


there's an old voice in my head that's holding me back

by theyellowumbrella



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, So Much pansexual!chloe, btw beca Totally has siblings because i love the idea of mitchell siblings, but basically it's a load of, i mean it's there but it's not like we WANT it to be there, i'm trash for sexually confused!beca and pansexual!chloe, jeca is a thing but it is also not a thing ???, pansexual!chloe, sexually confused!beca, these tags are actual garbage ignore them, this is Actually Trash, this was supposed to be a one shot but it's gonna be multichap, u can blame my nerd of a best friend who said I should write chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyellowumbrella/pseuds/theyellowumbrella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t know how to stop this feeling. You don’t know how to make it <em>stop</em>. The thoughts of Chloe, dancing through your mind when you’re supposed to be thinking of your boyfriend, are incessant and always there and they’re sitting, eating away at you minute by minute, second by second. You don’t know how much more you can take.</p><p>(or: Beca is a sexually confused nerd and she just wants to stop thinking about kissing her best friend and Chloe is probably in love with her but, y'know, whatever)</p><p>[HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any mistakes or gaps! For some reason, when I pasted my google doc into the AO3 editor, it automatically erased any word in italics. I tried my hardest to catch them all, but I'm not certain I did. If I missed one, drop a comment and I'll try and fix it :)
> 
> also, apologies for this utter piece of trash. it was originally supposed to be a one shot but I asked my best friend if I should end it here and write more chapters and she said I should so ??? blame her, it's all her fault. it's also her fault that I continue to post stories because she's always the person who reads them as I draft and redraft them before posting, so really, the lesson here is that this is all to be put on her shoulders if it goes badly. (i sound unappreciative but in reality I love her Too Much)
> 
> //title is from little talks by of monsters and men

You learn quickly that your life can be separated into two easy sections:

Before Chloe and After Chloe.

Before Chloe was a darker time, where you’d hole yourself up in your room and guard from the world. You’d keep your heart locked away in a cage, never to be opened, and you’d never show any semblance of emotion. Before Chloe was a time when everything was dark, and there was nothing there to keep you afloat.

After Chloe is undiscovered territory.

After Chloe, you are brighter and there is no longer a weight resting on your shoulders, dragging you down into the mud. You’re not necessarily happy, because you cannot remember the last time you truly were. You think maybe you were a little kid, before the divorce and before your father upped and left (you think maybe this time can be classed as Before Before Chloe, but maybe not).

Chloe is a carefree spirit. She floats through life as if it’s something to be treasured, watches the way the stars illuminate the night sky as if they hold the secrets to the world in them and looks at you like you’re her destiny (sometimes you think maybe she’s yours, too). She finds beauty in everything she sees, and you’re almost envious of how she allows herself to not care.

People have always accused you of not caring, but that’s never been the case; you just care too much, is all.

You’ve never been big on physical contact, or smiling when not for a photograph or a social event, or interacting with other people, but Chloe is. She holds your hand and strokes your hair and makes you grin so big your cheeks hurt, and more importantly, she gives you friends. She gives you these other girls, all awkward and bumbling like yourself — if not slightly less so — and she gives you purpose.

“I love you,” she tells you sometimes, curled up together on her bed. Never when Aubrey is around, always when she is in her own room or out, and always with the lights off.

“Yeah,” you always reply, because you’re too scared of what else you could end up saying to think of anything else.

Sometimes you think you could make it work with Jesse. He’s nerdy like you and he’s awkward as well, and he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon. Sometimes, when you’re not asking yourself why you don’t particularly want to be with him, you think you could do it. You think you could handle holding his hand and kissing him and watching those God awful movies he insists on showing you (Chloe never makes you watch movies with her, but that is irrelevant, you tell yourself).

You know what your dad thinks about girls who like girls. You know the way he turns up his nose at it. You remember the way your older brother Nick had been thrown out of the house, lips blue and teeth chattering because your dad had walked into his room and found him with his hand down the pants of his best friend. It’s not like you seek your dad’s approval, but you need him to stay at college, to stay as a Bella (to stay with Chloe).

Sometimes you don’t think Aubrey is all that bad. You see the urgency behind her eyes and the way she has to bite back her tears all too often. Sometimes you feel really bad for her. You don’t think you would have Before Chloe, but now you do. You think maybe that says something, but choose not to acknowledge it.

“Becs,” she whispers one night, her head resting on your lap and your fingers laced through her hair, massaging her scalp. It’s a terrifyingly intimate position, one you know you’d never enter into without it being Chloe.

“Hmm,” you reply.

“I want you to know that I’m into girls as well as boys.”

Your fingers still in her hair and you feel her tense up automatically. She waits a few seconds before moving her head out of your lap and sitting up to face you, and when she does you wish more than anything that she was back in her previous position.

“Bec?”

You try not to care, or let it get under your skin, but you suddenly can’t stop thinking about what it means now that you know she’s definitely attracted to girls as well. You’d always had suspicions, but now that it’s confirmed, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Your mind runs free, images of Chloe pressing you up against a wall taking over. You can just imagine the way her breath tickles your ear, and how it must feel to have her hands on you. If she would smile into a kiss or keep deadly serious.

(These aren’t the sort of thoughts girls have for their best friends, you think, but you pin it down to the revelation shocking you).

“Bec, this doesn’t, like, change anything about us. You do know that, right?”

(You want to scream out that it changes everything between you, but you just can’t).

“‘Course. Just… Yeah, no, of course.”

The ICCAs are a whirlwind. One minute, you’re singing your heart out and dancing and trying your hardest to not look at Chloe, and the next you’re being nudged in the shoulder by Stacie and you have to force yourself down the stairs.

You remember the discussion you had with Aubrey and Chloe when you told them you wanted to put Don’t You Forget About Me into the mix; the way your hands shook and you couldn’t quite meet their eyes. They’d been fine with it, but every part of you wishes they hadn’t.

You know where Jesse’s sitting — have memorised it, even — and you make your way over there with a heavy heart. He’s sitting grinning — waiting, almost — and your heart is in your throat, thudding, and you have to make yourself smile back (you never had to force yourself to do anything with Chloe — it all came naturally).

“Told you: endings are the best part,” he says.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you breathe out.

The words feel strange on your tongue; like they don’t belong to you. They taste bitter in your mouth, a feeling you wonder if will ever go away around him.

You kiss him then, because you can feel him waiting. You can feel his uneasy breath, the way he’s practically begging you to make the move, and you give in to all of the voices in your head telling you this is the proper thing to do.

Jesse’s not a bad kisser, you don’t think, but you’re struggling to feel anything at all. He knows what to do with his mouth and he catches your lower lip between his teeth and you know that that’s a good move, but it just feels weird. It’s like kissing your best friend (which you’re trying not to imagine doing, because thinking about kissing your best friend is your whole problem).

Your dad comes over, grinning and proud, and you silently wonder if he’s more proud of you for winning or for ending up with Jesse.

Jesse is a really good boyfriend. He takes you on dates and buys you flowers and kisses you soft and slow like a proper gentleman, and he always treats you right. He’s the kind of boy you bring home to meet your mom and the kind of boy you marry and have kids with.

You take him home with you to Portland at Thanksgiving break so he can actually spend time with your mom and brother, and he spends the whole plane ride watching movies and discussing them with you like you care about them. You make a mix with two songs Chloe had shown you before you left to go home, and tell yourself it’s because they’re really good songs.

Nick is at the airport waiting for your arrival. Jesse kisses you once you’re off the plane and tells you that he’s going to the bathroom and that he’ll find you and Nick, and so you make your way through the crowd until you find your unnaturally tall brother, lanky and awkward as ever, standing next to a boy who is about as small as you. Your brother is grinning at you and is clearly trying to get you to run to him (“Becs! Come on, Becs! God, you’re soo slow!”) but you let yourself be weighed down by your bags and trudge towards him slowly.

When you do get to him, your bags are shoved into the arms of the unfamiliar boy and you’re being lifted up by Nick, who is smiling and laughing like crazy into your hair (he reminds you a lot of Chloe when he’s like this, you think).

“Who, uh, who’s this?” you ask, nodding your head at the boy with an armful of your bags.

“Oh. This is my boyfriend, Jamie. Jamie, this is my little sister, Beca.”

“Hi,” he says, and he nods at you rather than shaking your hand because of the bags that are currently occupying his.

“Hi. Um, sorry about the bags, my —”

Just then your phone buzzes, the annoying message popping up saying that your storage is almost full. You swipe it away almost automatically and go to lock your phone, but before you do, Nick is grabbing hold of it and giving you that smug fucking smile that you hate.

“Is this your girlfriend?” he asks, and you’re confused for a second before you realise he’s looking at your lock screen — a picture of you and Chloe — and you can’t breathe. “She’s cute. For a girl.”

“Um, no, no, she’s my — we’re — Nick, give my phone back.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bec. Does Dad know yet?”

“Nick, give me my phone back.”

“Come on, I always had my suspicions. You were always really close with that girl in high school. What was her name? Uh… Madison? Madison, that was it.”

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend. Give me my phone back.”

“Beca,” he says, voice turning gentle. “Seriously. I’m your brother. You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are.”

“I’m not ashamed! She’s my best friend. She’s not — we’re not …”

You snatch your phone back and take another look at the photo. You understand why he thinks you’re dating Chloe from it, if you’re honest. You’re standing backstage at the ICCAs and her arms are wrapped around your neck, her lips planted on your cheek and her smile wide. You’re standing a little awkwardly, but smiling all the same, and leaning into her. You look more at home with Chloe in this picture than you do in any of the ones you have with Jesse.

“I’m not into Chloe,” you say quietly.

Before Nick can argue, you feel an all too familiar arm wrap around your waist. He leans his mouth into your head and kisses you, mumbling a greeting of some kind into your hair. You think this probably seems like an intimate gesture, and you’re automatically uncomfortable.

“Uh, Nick, Jamie, this is Jesse. My boyfriend.”

And that’s that.

Portland isn’t like you were expecting. You were expecting it to feel the way it did when you were a little kid coming home after the rare visit to your dad’s house in Georgia: comforting. Now, it’s boring. You don’t know what to do (there is nothing to do) and Jesse just wants you to show him everything, but there is nothing to show him and he keeps getting annoyed.

It’s like everything that happened Before Chloe is mediocre now that you’ve met her. Like nothing will ever live up to her and the way it feels when she accidentally brushes hands with you.

Your mom is the same as always: tired. Her smile is faded, worn around the edges, and her enthusiasm is dulled. She’s happy to see Jesse, but you think maybe she sees the way you have to hold back with him. She gives you this look when Chloe FaceTimes you to tell you that she’s thankful for you that suggests she knows something you don’t (the funniest thing about this, you think, is that you do know what she thinks she knows. You’re just trying your damnedest to ignore it).

“Jesse’s a nice boy,” she tells you when Nick and Jamie have taken Jesse out shopping for the turkey.

“Yeah. He’s … Yeah.”

“Are you happy?” she asks.

You can’t bring yourself to say yes, but you don’t say no, either (so that has to count for something, right?).

You wonder why Chloe makes you feel so safe, sometimes. You’ll be on her lap, feet tucked under your knees and head resting on her shoulder — a position you know for a fact you’ll never enter into with Jesse — and you will just feel comfortable. With Chloe comes the perpetual scent of cinnamon and Chanel No. 5, and you revel in it as she holds you close to her.

You live in these moments; the ones where you don’t have to pretend to be something or someone you’re not.

* * *

 

Chloe Beale is not the kind of person you want silently; she is the kind of person whose touch you crave for hours on end, whose smile lights a fire inside of you that cannot be extinguished.

You don’t know how to stop this feeling. You don’t know how to make it _stop_. The thoughts of Chloe, dancing through your mind when you’re supposed to be thinking of your boyfriend, are incessant and always there and they’re sitting, eating away at you minute by minute, second by second. You don’t know how much more you can take.

She’s a cuddler, and she likes to wrap you up in her arms and hold you as close to her as you can. Her heart beats against your ear and yours her ribcage, and the moments you share seem heartwrenchingly private.

“You’re so beautiful, Beca,” she tells you, lips pressed to the side of your cheek. She never does move away, and you’re not sure if it’s a kiss or just a comforting gesture. You’re grateful either way. “You don’t realise how beautiful you are.”

Your breath hitches, and you don’t know what to say because Chloe’s eyes are glassy and her smile is so vulnerable and open, and this is the girl you want so very badly.

“You’re pretty, too, Chloe.”

“No, I mean — you don’t get it. Like … I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You’re a masterpiece, Beca.”

And suddenly you’re all too aware of Chloe’s lips on your cheek, her breath hot, and the way her body is pressed up against yours. Every part of you is touching, and the intimacy of the moment is killing you. Chloe shifts then, pulling back from your cheek as if she knows you’re unsure about this contact. But then she’s looking at you — truly looking, like how Romeo would look for the stars in Juliet’s eyes — and you want nothing more than to close the gap between you and kiss her — finally let your lips touch hers and  _let go_.

You don’t, of course. You don’t, because you are Beca Mitchell. Because you have a boyfriend and a dad who hates girls like this (girls like you) and because Chloe Beale does not deserve to be an experiment, and because you are Beca Mitchell and you are utterly predictable.

“Um … I should go,” you say, shifting your gaze from her lips, which are impossibly full and so, so pink.

“Bec,” she starts, her tone changing as if she’s done something wrong. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have —”

“— No, Chlo, it’s not — it’s fine. We’re fine. Seriously. I’ve just gotta … I have to go. But it’s fine.”

“Beca, wait, please,” she pleads, but you’re already scrambling for your jacket. “I didn’t mean to — if I made you uncomfortable —”

“— That’s not what … It’s not that. I’m really sorry, Chloe. I have to go, because if I don’t then I’m going to do something I shouldn’t.”

And Chloe doesn’t push you to go further and watches you as you leave her room, jacket clutched to your chest and your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

You can barely breathe, and you’re far too close to crying for comfort. You can still feel Chloe’s breath on your cheek, steady and hot.

Your phone buzzes from inside of your pocket, vibrating against the side of your leg. Your eyes are welling up with tears, but you blink them away as best as you can and fumble around in your pocket for a few seconds before you finally get your phone out.

_Warren Mitchell_ , the screen reads, and you let out a shaky sigh. You’re still outside of Chloe and Aubrey’s apartment — you don’t think you could walk away even if you wanted to — and the last person you want to speak to right now (except from maybe Jesse) is your dad.

But still, you slide your thumb across the answer button and bring your phone up to your ear. You can hear Chloe pacing gently inside and it is fucking  _killing_  you.

“What?” you say as way of greeting, your voice scratchy. You outwardly wince at how you sound: broken.

“Hello to you, too, Beca,” he says with a snort.

“What do you _want_?”

“Okay, okay. Fine. I just wanted to invite you and Jesse to dinner this Saturday.”

You freeze. You’ve never told your dad about you and Jesse — not because of Chloe, you tell yourself, but because it’s none of his business — and you wonder how he knows. Maybe he saw you together at school, but that’s unlikely considering you never let Jesse kiss you in public. You never hold his hand or let him hug you. You look just like two friends most of the time — sometimes, even that’s a stretch.

“How did you know?” you ask.

It couldn’t have been Nick, because your dad hasn’t so much as looked at him for five years. Your mom hasn’t spoken to him since the divorce and the only one of your friends that he’s ever met is Chloe, and Chloe wouldn’t —

Chloe might. A mention in passing, maybe, without realising that you’ve not told him yet. You know she won’t have done it to spite you or anything, but your chest is filled with rage at the thought.

“I ran into Chloe on the quad and she told me that —”

“— Jesus. She can’t just … God.”

“I just asked her where you were and she mentioned you were probably out with your boyfriend.” Silence. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“I … I wasn’t.”

“Come on, Beca,” he says, sighing. “I know that you and I don’t have the best of relationships, but really?”

“What were you expecting?” you say, voice sharp. “It’s not as if you’ve exactly got the best track records with your children being in relationships.”

“Jesus, Bec. That isn’t fair.”

“No, what isn’t fair is that you kicked your son out of your house because he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. He was your son for seventeen years before that moment and then you just decided to kick him out? Who does that?”

“Beca, Nick is sick. That — what he is … he needs help.”

“Oh, my God. You don’t even get it.”

“Come on, you can’t seriously tell me that you support those … people.”

“I can. I can and I am. Nick is my brother, gay or not, and he’ll always be my brother. Some of my closest friends are — look, it doesn’t even matter, Dad.”

“Some of your closest friends are what?” he asks.

“Nothing. It’s … it’s nothing.”

“Beca? What are you not telling me?” he growls.

The words come tumbling out of your mouth, a half-incoherent mess of words. “Some of my friends are gay, or like girls, and that’s — that’s okay, y’know? That’s _okay_ ,  Dad, even if … That’s okay. It doesn’t matter what you think because it’s okay and it’s  _okay_  that Nick likes boys instead of girls. It would be okay if I — It’s okay.”

You’re able to stop yourself before you trip over the edge, but you can feel the tension from the other end of the line. You hope with every part of you that he won’t question you on what you almost said, but realistically you know it’s highly likely.

“Beca,” he snaps, his voice low. “I don’t care what ludicrous ideas you’ve got in your head. It is not okay, and that is a fact. God does not —”

“— God probably doesn’t even _exist_!”

“Don’t you dare!” he shouts, and you shake.

“This is bullshit,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him. “This is bullshit. It’s normal.”

“It is not normal, Rebeca,” your dad tells you, his voice warning. “It’s a sin — an  _abomination_ — and I did not raise your brother like that. I raised a good boy. I don’t want you talking to your friends, whoever they are, that are like … _that_.

You snort without thinking about it because when you go over your list of friends in your mind, you’re pretty sure like, ninety five percent of them are gay or are at least definitely not straight.

(But within your group of friends, you tell yourself, you are within the five percent of straight people).

“Whatever,” you say, because your bones  _ache_  and you just want to go to bed and forget about tonight altogether.

He’s hesitant for a minute before he says, “So, I’ll see you and Jesse for dinner on Friday at seven. Your sister will be excited to see you.”

“Yeah. Fine.”

You don’t notice the way the door of Chloe’s apartment is slightly ajar and the fact that the sound of footsteps had died out around the time you started talking about Nick.

* * *

 

Being best friends with Chloe Beale is  _exhausting_.

You have to spend every waking minute trying not to look at her lips, or the way her eyelashes keep fluttering, or the scar on her forehead. You have to put all of your energy into not kissing her whenever she gets excited, or talks too much, or says something that makes you feel warm inside. You have to dedicate your time to making sure that your hands never stray from her hips when you dance and that they never  _want to_.

It’s simultaneously the best and most heartbreaking thing you’ve ever done.

Chloe Beale is summer days spent sunbathing in your backyard, sunscreen smeared across your cheeks and dripping off of your nose and you are winter evenings; chattering teeth and frozen fingers, your ears nipping with the cold. She is the sunrise and you are the sunset: so close yet so far apart. Chloe is the sun and you are the moon; natural companions, but you can’t ever be together. She is everything in between: the silence when you don’t need anything else; the smiles exchanged when you can’t hold it back; the stolen kisses you never want to give back.

She is your best friend but she is  _so much more_  and your heart is breaking more each time she looks at you.

* * *

 

You’re not sure what you were expecting when you introduced Jesse to your dad and Sheila, but you certainly weren’t expecting …  _this_.

This, of course, being the two of them huddled around a photo album and cooing at baby photos of you. You’re surprised he even has any, considering how little he used to care, but shrug it off and guess he took them to spite your mom in the divorce.

Sheila is in the kitchen with your sister, doing the washing up and occasionally answering any questions the toddler has for her. You’re lurking by the door, watching on in amusement as Erin babbles on and colours in a picture of two dogs and a cat.

“Beca!” she exclaims when she sees you, dropping her purple crayon and grinning up at you.

“Hey, kid."

“C’mere,” she demands. “I make you a pi’ture.”

“Really? Just for me?”

“Mm-hmm. But you’s gotta c’mere.”

You make your way over to the table where she sits, scooping her up into your arms and stealing her seat.

“Hey!” she exclaims, hitting you on the thighs with the palms of her hands. “Thass’ my seat!”

“You can sit on my lap.”

Erin pouts up at you but relents.

“Fine.”

You try and ignore the way Sheila is staring at you from her position at the sink and focus on your little sister, but, well, she’s practically  _glaring_ and you can’t really focus.

“Something you wanted?” you ask her, making sure to put your best irritated face on.

Sheila smiles softly at you and shakes her head. “No, it’s just nice to see you again, is all.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling isn’t mutual,” you say with a scoff.

And really, you’re not sure why you even hate Sheila so much. Sure, when you were a kid it was all about how your dad had just _left_ , just like that, and you’d found out a few weeks later it was to be with this stranger. You’d hated her on principle before even meeting her. But now, well, she’s sort of nice, and you know that she’s trying to form a relationship with you but part of you thinks maybe it’s just too late now.

“Come on, Beca,” she says with a light laugh. “Are we still pretending you’re a thirteen year old who hates the world and everything in it just because I exist?”

You don’t even look up as you take the crayon from Erin’s hand and colour in the dog’s ears. “Yup.”

“Okay, well, I still love you, either way.”

“That’s nice.”

“Beca?” Erin asks, prodding you in the shoulder with her index finger.

“What’s up, nerd?”

“How comes you don’ like Mommy?”

“It’s complicated,” you tell her, all too aware of Sheila’s listening ears.

“Das’ what Daddy says when he doesn’t wanna tell me somethin’. Why?”

“It’s just — when I was younger, Daddy used to be with my mom. Until one day … he wasn’t, and he was with yours. And that sucked for me.”

“But that was years ago?”

“Yeah, but nobody holds a grudge like Beca Mitchell,” Sheila says.

Jesse comes through, then, grinning like an idiot at a picture of you in the bathtub. You grimace at the way he keeps laughing at it like he has the right to see these pictures. He’s your boyfriend but he feels so detached from everything else in your life and you can’t stand how you feel like he doesn’t deserve to be here.

(Chloe had turned up looking for you once and sat and had coffee with Sheila and read to Erin. She’d told you about it in passing when you saw her next and you’ve never said anything but it never felt out of place).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka they go to a party and everything's confusing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have one more day of school before we have a totally random week off, so be prepared for at least one more chapter minimum in that amount of time. that's only if i'm uninspired, though, because I have literally nothing to do but write, rewatch Pitch Perfect and watch the return of Grey's this whole week.
> 
> also, I forgot how hard it is to write multichapters. i haven't tried since like, 2014 and I abandoned it after 3 chapters. originally i wanted to bang out this chapter on sunday and post it that night but i've been trying to finish it since then and i'm only just finished. the things i do for you guys.
> 
> tw: the use of one homophobic slur

Sometimes, you miss Aubrey.

It’s not about her personality or the way she ran the Bellas with an iron fist, it’s the fact that when she was around, there was a certain amount of distance that you could place between you and Chloe. Back then, you were her number two best friend and anything you didn’t want to do could be put off with a “why don’t you ask Aubrey?”

Now, there’s no buffer. Now, it’s just the two of you, and there’s no saying no to Chloe Beale.

“We’re going to a party!” she announces, inviting herself into your room and dropping onto your bed. Fat Amy is on the other side, eyeing you both suspiciously, but you ignore her and focus your attention on Chloe.

“What?” you ask, frowning.

“A party!” she says again, as if it’ll clear up any confusion. “Tom’s throwing a party and I told him we’d be there.”

“Tom?” you question, raising an eyebrow. The name is vaguely familiar, but Tom is probably the most common name _ever_ , so it doesn’t clear anything up.

“What? You know Tom!” she exclaims.

“No, I don’t …”

“Ugh. The guy from the shower? When we sang _Titanium_ and he told you you had an awesome voice?”

You burn red and hope she doesn’t notice. The mention of you and Chloe in a shower seems to have not missed Amy’s scrutinous listening, who wiggles her eyebrows at you and makes some crude hand gestures that you don’t even pretend to understand.

“Oh. Right.”

Your chest tightens at the memory: the way he’d smirked at you and flicked his gaze between you and Chloe as if to ask a question — one you’d not wanted to think about answering for fear of what you’d say —, how he’d waited for Chloe to return to her shower with him, how you’d seen him place his hand on her ass and squeeze when the two skipped away.

“So, we’re going. It’s tonight!”

“Can I bring Jesse?” you ask, and regret it as soon as her gleeful smile is replaced with a look of sadness.

“Um. Sure.”

Amy scoffs at you, but you ignore her and move closer to Chloe.

“Wanna watch something?” you ask, nodding your head in the direction of your laptop. It’s sitting abandoned on your desk, an unfinished mix open on the screen.

“Sure,” she agrees, seemingly happy for the change of topic. “What’s the mix of?”

“Oh, um, it’s — it’s nothing,” you say, suddenly remembering that the mix had been of _Titanium_ and _Chloe_ by Emblem3.

“C’mon, Becs, don’t be shy,” she says, giving you that smile again. The one that fucking _kills_ you.

“It’s not — I’m not — I’ll show you when it’s finished.”

“Let me listen,” she says, jutting out her lower lip and widening her eyes.

And suddenly, you’re struggling to breathe because oh my _God_ , her lips are so pink. It would be so easy to close the gap between you and kiss her, but, well, _no_.

No, because she is your best friend (and that is it, no matter what stories you build up in your head).

“Pleaaase, Becs,” she whines, making her lip quiver to add effect.

“God,” you say, taking your laptop onto your lap and handing Chloe the headphones. “I never stood a chance.”

She squeals and wraps her arms around your neck, dragging you towards her. The hug is brief but it sets your body alight — as soon as you touch you swear your skin is on fire and you burn to ashes when she brushes your hip with her hand.

She puts the headphones on and presses play and you watch on anxiously. The volume is up so loud that you can hear it without needing the headphones, and you wince every time the beat of _Titanium_ doesn’t match up with the beat of _Chloe_ , or you notice a delay in the delivery of a particular verse or line. You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation, knowing full well that this is probably not a best friends type mix.

Eventually, you hear the songs return to their natural, unedited state and they sound horrible together like this, so you press pause and remove the headphones from her ears.

“That’s … that’s all I’ve done so far. Um. Sorry if you didn’t like it. The songs were pretty different but I think that it’s going okay. I mean, obviously there’s still a ton of work to be done and it’s nowhere near finished but —”

“— Beca,” she says, taking your hand in hers. Your stomach lurches and you’re suddenly hyperaware, feeling nothing but the warmth of her hand in yours and the way her thumb ring is cool against you. “Relax. I loved it.”

“You did?”

Chloe’s always been kind but you’ve never heard her speak with so much sincerity. Her eyes are soft around the edges, baby blue and so, so captivating. You wonder if she’s even real or if this is all part of your imagination. You’re not sure how someone this beautiful could even exist.

“Of course I did.” Her words are gentle, tentative even. As if she’s afraid of spooking you. “I have to ask: was that mix … Was it for me?”

You blush fiercely — your skin most likely lighting up the same colour as her hair — and shrug.

“No, Chloe, that mix was for Stacie,” you deadpan. “Of course it was for you.”

“Well, it was amazing. Nobody’s ever … taken the time out of their life to do something like that for me, and I know that you probably weren’t even planning on giving me it which just proves that you did it really for me and not yourself, and — Well. I’m rambling, which is sort of your thing, so I’ll stop, but really, thank you.”

You don’t understand how nobody’s ever done anything like this for Chloe. She’s the best person you’ve ever met in your whole life and you don’t doubt for a second that she holds that spot in more than just your life. She’s beautiful, and not just physically. Everything about Chloe is truly breathtaking, you think, and the fact that she doesn’t seem to understand this is breaking your heart.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly.

“Love you, Becs.”

“Love you, too,” you reply, and the truth behind your words rings in your mind.

* * *

 

You find later that night that Chloe was one hundred percent serious when she turns up at your door at seven thirty, clad in her shortest, tightest red dress (the one that makes your mind go blank whenever you see it because _holy fucking fuck_ ) and holding a bottle of tequila.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” she whines, glaring at your sweatpants and the Barden University sweater you stole from her closet.

“Wait, you were serious about that? And it’s tonight?”

“Yes, Beca, of course I was serious about that!”

She invites herself into your room for the second time today and shoves the bottle of tequila unceremoniously into your hands. She takes it upon herself to rifle through your closet, mumbling a greeting of some sort to Amy, who’s sprawled across her bed, probably sexting Bumper or something (gross).

Eventually, she’s dashing out of your room and into her and Stacie’s, and when she comes back you see her arms full of dresses you’d never buy in a million years.

“Here,” she says, setting the pile down onto your bed. “Pick one.”

There’s a whole lot of back and forth before eventually she groans and picks a dress at random, shoving it into your hands and forcing you into the bathroom.

Of course, it’s one of Stacie’s less conservative dresses. Obviously, she’s so tall that her short is your relatively long, but you wince when you see what she’s picked out:

It’s all black — “simple, and right up your alley,” Chloe had called it when she set them all down on the bed — but it’s so low cut that pretty much half your cleavage will be showing in it. There’s a cut in the middle of it — you’re not sure how to describe it but it’s pretty much what would separate the dress from being just a skirt and a shirt had there not been two thin strips of material leaving the two connected at your hips — that shows off your stomach, and while you’re not exactly uncomfortable with your body, it’s not exactly how you want to be spending your Friday night (showing off unnecessary skin to a bunch of horny college guys who could never get with you even if they tried, that is).

But you reluctantly change into it and the shoes Chloe had also thrown at you as you shuffled into the bathroom and take some time to apply your makeup. Sure, you’re not as heavy on the eyeliner as you used to be, but you still like to put at least a little bit on.

“Becs,” Chloe says when she sees you — you swear you see her eyes darkening, but then again, that’s probably just your overactive imagination running free again.

“Mm?”

“You look so fucking hot.”

Chloe is the type of person that says these things like they’re just offhand comments and has the ability to get away with it and you’re convinced that one day soon, it’s actually going to kill you. Your eyes absentmindedly travel down Chloe’s own body and once again, your throat goes dry when you see her cleavage (this is not how girls think about their best friends, this is not how girls think about their best friends, this is not how girls think about their best friends).

Your phone buzzes from its position on your bedside table, displaying Jesse’s contact picture — the two of you with Nick and Jamie at Thanksgiving (his smile is wide and yours is tight but neither of you have ever said anything about how mismatched you look) — and you grimace without even noticing. You answer, of course, even though Chloe is staring at you.

“Hey,” you say when you pick up, fully aware of Chloe’s prying eyes.

“Heeey, Becs! Chloe texted me like, an hour ago asking about some party. She said you were gonna ask me? Anyway, I’m at Tom’s and I was wondering where you guys are.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t realise she was serious and so I didn’t get ready so we’ve just spent the better part of an hour arguing over what I’m gonna wear. We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see ya when you get here. Love you, Becaw.”

“Yeah,” you say, because you can’t say it back with Chloe standing right there.

“Y’know, when your boyfriend says he loves you, you’re supposed to —”

You cut him off by hanging up because if he finishes that sentence you’ll be tempted to lie to him and say it back.

The party itself is like every other college party Chloe has dragged you to: loud, sweaty, and the last place on Earth you want to be. But somehow, with your arm around your neck, you can’t seem to care as much as you used to.

The music is loud and the DJ doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, so really, you’re just pissed off in general. Chloe pours you a cup of jiggle juice — a concoction she’d apparently created in her freshman year that makes your brain fuzzy after only a few sips — and it helps take away the stress that this horrible DJ and your terribly unfriendly thoughts about Chloe has put on you.

You find Jesse after a few minutes, literally doing the fucking worm in the middle of the floor, and you shudder at the sight of him. It’s not that you don’t care for him — because really, you do love him, just not the way he loves you — it’s just that his presence is almost as exhausting as having to pretend you’ve not been thinking about Chloe like this since before you even got together.

“Jess,” you say, nudging him with your foot. “Jess!”

“Becawww!” he exclaims when he finally takes notice, jumping up from the floor and taking a long drink of the drink he’d handed to Benji to hold for him. “Hiiii, babe.”

He kisses you without any warning and _God_ , this shouldn’t feel so awful. Your boyfriend shouldn’t have to warn you when he’s going to kiss you, but you still want — _need_ — him to or else you’re afraid you’ll go all Aubrey on him and puke on his shoes.

You pull away as soon as you can, forcing a small smile and taking a swig of your jiggle juice.

“You okay, Becaw?”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply shakily, and really, if Jesse was even slightly sober right now, you’re sure he’d see right through this.

“Good. I’m glad,” he says, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Um, do you know where Chloe went?” you ask after realising she’s disappeared from your side. Your head whips around the room, eyes searching every inch for her, but she’s gone.

“No, sorry, Becs.”

“Oh. It’s — no, it’s okay. I’ll find her … later, I guess. It’s just — No. It’s fine.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Positive.”

And that’s the end of that. Jesse pulls you in for a half-hug type thing and squeezes your shoulders and you shudder a little and set off on your mission to find Chloe. A cup of jiggle juice in your hand, your mind fuzzier than usual and determination to find Chloe, you set off on your trip.

It’s cut short when you stumble into a bedroom, flip the switch on and see Chloe’s bare back. She’s sitting on top of Tom’s lap, legs probably wrapped around his waist, and she’s kissing his neck and you see _red_.

“What the fuck?” you hear, and tear your eyes off of Chloe for long enough to see the voice belongs to Tom.

“I … I’ve gotta — I can’t —”

“— Beca, wait!”

But you’re already running, your heart thudding in your chest, threatening to break free. It’s too late because by the time Chloe has pulled her dress back on, you’re already out of the house with tear filled eyes.

And really, you don’t even have the right to be mad, or angry, or upset, or _whatever_ . Chloe isn’t your girlfriend. Chloe isn’t _anything_ , really. She’s your best friend and that’s all. So, you’re not upset. You’re not crying. This doesn’t affect you.

Except God, you’re totally lying because you feel like someone’s ripped your heart out of your chest and all you saw was kissing. No real nudity, or any moaning. It was just Chloe kissing some guy’s neck and you’re fucking wrecked.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and unlock it, scrolling through your contacts. Your fingers are numb and you almost call Aubrey by accident, but you eventually find _Nick Mitchell_ and press call. It rings for so long that you think he’s not going to pick up, but on the ninth ring, you hear a crackling sound and your brother’s sleepy voice plays in your ears.

“Bec? Are you okay?”

And then you let it go. You crack, letting your sobs take over your body. You’ve never been like this before. Not even when your dad left at age thirteen after kicking Nick out. You’d been angry then, not sad. Fucking _fuming_. But now?

Now, you cannot handle the way you feel like everything inside of you has disappeared and you are completely void of anything. It’s as if she’s taken everything you ever had and wrecked it and all it was was a fucking kiss.

“Beca?”

“Um. I’m not — I can’t — Help. Please. I can’t …”

“What’s going on? Bec? Are you drunk?”

“Um, a little. Um. I saw Chloe … I was looking for Chloe and I saw her making out with this guy, and she was like, naked, and _God_. Why does this hurt? This shouldn’t hurt!”

“Bec, I know you said it wasn’t like that, but do you think maybe you like Chloe as more than a friend?”

“What? No,” you spit. “No. I’m not a —”

“— Not a what?” he asks, voice accusing. “Not a dyke?”

“God, Nick,” you breathe, voice shaky. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Actually, Beca, I don’t know it. You’ve been so offended this whole time at even the idea of you dating another girl, and as someone who is gay, I’m beginning to take offence to how horrified you are at the notion.”

“I didn’t mean — You know I don’t care that you’re gay. You know it doesn’t matter to me. But I’m not gay, alright? I’m straight.”

“If you’re so straight, why are you crying down the phone to me because your best friend kissed a guy even though you have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t _know_! That’s what you’re supposed to tell me!” you exclaim, huffing out a sigh in exasperation.

“I can’t tell you how you feel, Bec.”

You hang up the phone and hang your head to the ground. You’re so focused on the way the pavement cracks down certain lines that you don’t hear the footsteps approaching or see the bright shock of ginger hair coming your way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka they argue and things get complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have so many headcanons about beca being totally infatuated with chloe so this story is actually just me letting them all out. but anyway, things escalate in this chapter. it's shorter than the other two but i feel like it's better ?? idk. i've officially uploaded this to ff.net now though, which is cool, i guess.
> 
> also, if the first chapter seems a little bit off compared to the newer ones it's because it was originally written as a one shot and I ended up switching it to a multichapter halfway through.

“Becs?”

You look up in shock, Chloe’s hoarse voice snapping you out of your daze. Her hair is tousled but she’s managed to get her dress back on, if not a little crumpled. A baggy black jacket has been wrapped around her shoulders — Tom’s, probably — and she looks so good that it’s killing you because she’s not even trying.

“What?” you ask, deciding to play innocent. You scratch at your wrist as a distraction and look back at the ground so you don’t have to look her in the eyes (you’re sure that if you do you’ll break again).

“Hey, that wasn’t — That was a little weird. That, y’know, you … you walked in on that. So, I’m sorry.”

“What?” you ask, never looking up. “No, it was — I mean — it doesn’t — whatever.”

“Becs,” she says, her voice softening. She tries to place her hand on your shoulder but you flinch at the contact. “You don’t have to pretend that it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“What? Pshh, no. It didn’t — I’m  _ fine _ with — look, it’s not my business anyway, so.”

“Beca.”

“Seriously, I’m fine with … I mean, it’s your business who you sleep with. If you wanna fuck Tom, I have nothing to do with that. If you wanna fuck Tom, fuck Tom.”

“Jesus, Beca,” she says, sighing. “Why are you being such a dick about this?”

“ _ What _ ?” you hiss, your breath creating a cloud of fog in the cold air. “How am I being a dick about this? I’m being polite, if anything!”

“You’re not! You’re refusing to talk to me about this and you’re brushing it off and that’s a fucking dick move and you know it, Beca.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say, choosing to drain any emotion from your voice. You shut down inside, push your feelings down to the pit of your stomach and stare straight ahead.

“Beca, Jesus Christ. What’s going on with you? Why are you acting so moody lately?”

“I’m not acting moody! Jesus! Maybe I’m just pissed that you forced me into joining a club I never wanted to be a part of

in the first place!”

“What? We’re still on that? That was a year and a half ago, Beca,  _ let it go _ ! If you don’t want to be here, why did you stay? Why did you accept to being my co-captain?”

_ Because I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to _ , is what you want to say. “Because you’re my best friend,” is what you actually say. “And I don’t leave. I stick around. That’s … that’s my thing.”

Chloe’s face softens and she comes towards you, eyes welcoming and a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She’s coming closer now and you can see her up close, and your heart stops when your eyes subconsciously trace the little scar on her forehead. They drop down to her cherry red lips, which are wet with what you guess is jiggle juice and aren’t even slightly chapped. You’re trying not to stare but  _ God _ , you can’t help it.

She’s still approaching and for a second you think maybe she’s going to kiss you, and in your mind you try and tell yourself that this isn’t what you want but you can’t really help it because your heart is fluttering and every inch of you is on fire because you can feel the tickle of her breath on your face and, well, this is Chloe Beale.

You’re still staring at her mouth when she wraps her arms around your neck and holds you tight, and you suddenly cannot breathe because this girl is everything you never knew you wanted. She’s the key to a whole other universe you didn’t know existed, and it is exciting and foreign and you swear one day you’ll be alright again if she keeps holding you like this.

“I love you,” she whispers into your hair, and her voice catches in the back of her throat. This is the kind of moment you wish you could forget but know you’ll remember forever, and all you can think about is the way she’s pressing her lips to the side of your head and not your own lips.

“I love you too.” 

* * *

You wake up alone back in your own bedroom with little to no memory of how you got there. The last thing you remember is Chloe pulling away from the hug, eyes shiny with tears, and telling you that you should go back to the party and hang out with Jesse.

The sun is beating down on you and it’s like the world is out to get you because it feels like there’s a ten tonne truck being rammed into your skull. Amy is watching something on her laptop — it’s loud and it sounds a terrifying amount like porn — across the room and when she sees that you’ve awoken, she grins and laughs.

“Morning, Shawshank!” she exclaims, throwing a pillow at you. Her aim is annoyingly on point (you hate Chloe and Stacie for saying that phrase so much that you’ve picked up on it too) and it hits you right in the face.

“What the  _ fuck _ , Amy?” you groan, slamming your head into your mattress.

“Ha. Sorry, Shawshank.” She laughs when you grumble into the soft mattress and you muster up enough strength to flip her off.

“What time is it?” you ask, voice laced with sleep.

“Like, twelve in the afternoon. Chloe’s been trying to get you up for hours.”

Your head snaps up at Chloe’s name and you’re sure Amy notices because her lips twist into the smirk that you hate so very much, but right now you don’t really care about anything but the pounding in your head and Chloe.

(You always care about Chloe. She could probably do anything to you, no matter how bad, and at the end of the day you’d still crave her fingertips running through your hair and would long to make sure she was doing okay).

“Where is she?” you ask, voice quiet but demanding.

“Downstairs,” she answers simply, refocusing her attention on her laptop screen.

You ignore the earthquake going on inside of your head and drag yourself downstairs, eyes searching everywhere for Chloe. You find Stacie sprawled out across the sofa, head nodding in time to whatever she’s listening to through her headphones and Jessica giving Ashley a shoulder massage but you can’t find Chloe anywhere and you’re automatically filled with dread (even though really, she’s probably just at the store or something).

You tap Stacie on the shoulder and she winces, slamming her phone down onto the sofa so you can’t see it. As you’d approached, you’d seen her texting someone and smiled a little at the familiar glint in her eyes, but this is just weird. Stacie never hides her texts from, well,  _ anyone _ .

But you decide not to question it because this whole Chloe thing is still in the front of your mind and it’s killing you not being able to find her.

“What?” she asks, getting a shifty look on her face. You see her phone buzz beside her but she makes no attempt to check it.

“Where’s Chloe?” you blurt out, voice sounding needier than you’d intended.

Stacie’s look of discomfort is immediately replaced by a smug one, and she smirks at you like she’s taking immense pleasure in this conversation despite the fact that you’ve only spoken three words so far.

“Backyard. She said something about getting a tan.”

Your mind doesn’t really process this information and so when you rush outside and find Chloe lying across a sunbed in her tiny black bikini, your mind freezes. Your eyes travel over her body and oh, God, there’s so much skin and you’re trying to remind your body to breathe but then you look back and you  _ can’t _ .

Trying to keep up this image of a Beca Mitchell who is as straight as an arrow is the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do when looking at Chloe.

You’re sure that if one of the other Bellas were here to see you they’d never be able to stop laughing because your jaw is practically dropping and you’re probably drooling but really, you can’t be blamed because almost every inch of Chloe’s sunkissed skin is on show and so all rational thoughts have been wiped from your mind.

But Chloe soon catches your eye and you’re sure that you look dumb as fuck but okay, who cares because now she’s smiling at you and calling you over to her and your legs are moving against your own will.

“Hey, Becs,” she greets, scooting over on the sunbed and patting the new space beside her.

Your heart jumps but you reluctantly fill the space, pressing yourself up against her back. Your skin is on fire and the fact that you’re only wearing a pair of pyjama shorts and — Jesus Christ — Chloe’s worn Barden University sweater means that so much of your skin is touching hers. Your legs are freezing and hers are warm and smooth, and you swear this is what Heaven must be.

She turns on her side to face you, and you’re so close that your noses are practically touching. You wonder briefly if everyone has their own personal Heaven and if Chloe Beale must be yours, because you can’t imagine it being anything else when she smiles at you like that.

She pulls you in even closer, as if that’s possible, by tugging on your waist with her hand. She buries her head in your neck, and her lips ghost your collarbone.

“How’re you recovering after last night?” she mumbles into your neck. You can feel her lips moving against your skin and you’re trying to focus on anything but that fact and you’re failing miserably.

“Eh. Not well,” you reply noncommittally.

“I should have taken you home before I did,” she says regretfully. “Sorry. I just had … other stuff on my mind.”

You want to press and ask what other stuff but you don’t want to ruin the moment so you inside hum to acknowledge what she’s said and stay quiet. Your arms are full of Chloe and you never want to leave, but you know deep down that holding her like this is tearing you apart.

You think about your dad and what he would have to say about this. What he would have to say about even last night — the argument and the way you’d made up; all teary eyes and gripping onto each other like you’re afraid to let go — which could hardly be viewed as a romantic moment. You think about the way he’d sounded when he kicked Nick out all those years ago: devoid of any love or emotion towards him.

And you want to but you  _ can’t _ because no matter how much you hate him, you need your dad. You need him to keep Chloe and to keep Erin and even if keeping Chloe isn’t exactly the way you want in the bottom of your heart to keep her, it’s  _ something _ .

She moves back so you’re face-to-face again and gently caresses your jaw. You’re burning beneath her touch but right now, in this moment, you feel alive. So, instead of pulling away you lean into her touch and smile when she starts moving her hand up your face, stroking the skin just below your earlobe.

You press your forehead into hers subconsciously, your breathing becoming shallow as she tangles her fingers in your ear. Every part of you is touching Chloe and you think about how you’d never do this with Jesse, but then you’re guilty because you’re thinking about Jesse in a moment like this that is just Chloe in every way, shape and form.

You lean in without really thinking about it and brush your lips against hers. It’s quick and fleeting but it feels like everything in your life has been leading up to this moment. You go in again and she doesn’t stop you but you hear the way her breath has stopped and you’re hesitant again.

The kiss is chaste and the second one only lasts a few seconds before Chloe puts a hand on your chest and shoves you away. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are a little redder than before and you see the way her eyes have darkened and Jesus, post-kiss Chloe Beale might just be your favourite thing in the world.

“I … I can’t,” she says gently.

“What?” Beca whispers.

“I can’t — you have a  _ boyfriend _ ,” she spits. “This is — I can’t —”

“Chloe, wait!” you call out, but she’s already pulling her robe back on and running back into the house, leaving you out in the sun alone with your chest splitting down the middle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka they try and sort things out but it actually just becomes more confusing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i'll probably update this on tuesday again but after that idk when i can. i'll try and do it pretty quickly but my whole school is moving to a new building so everything will be pretty hectic for a few days and my time will probably be pretty full with the move. but anyway, thank you all for your support, it means so much to me.
> 
> p.s. i hope you guys don't feel like the story is moving too fast because i'm slightly worried about that myself and i made my friend read over this to assure me it isn't. if you feel like it is, though, please leave a comment saying so and i'll try and slow things down!!

God, you’re so stupid. You can’t believe you ever thought kissing your best friend was a good idea (especially when you have a boyfriend, as Chloe had so bitterly reminded you).

You sink further into your bed, reaching for your phone so you can turn the volume up. You melt into the sounds of Twenty One Pilots and close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in it. Your mind is slowly cleared of thought of Chloe and the way her lips were warm — just like the sun that was shining down on you — and they’re replaced by the part of your brain that shuts everything off and focuses just on the music.

That is, of course, until an all too familiar beat starts up and Sia’s voice is travelling down your headphones. Your eyes snap open and any sense of calmness is gone because Christ, of course your phone hates you and has decided to play  _ Titanium _ , which is not only undeniably  _ your _ song, but is also Chloe’s lady jam.

And, well, you don’t want to think about Chloe … jamming for too long, or else your mind will enter into unwanted territory. Your phone isn’t displaying your lock screen for whatever reason, even though you’re aggressively hitting the sleep button on the side, and you can still hear the song playing. Teasing you, almost.

The song reaches the chorus and you’re automatically hit with memories from when Chloe had made you sing with her in the shower. That, of course, leads to you remembering Chloe’s body in that moment — dripping wet and a fucking masterpiece — and your mouth dries up at the memory. You can’t  _ help _ it. It’s not as if it’s  _ your _ fault that she decided to barge into your shower unannounced and show off every single inch of herself.

Eventually, your phone jumps into action, the screen flickering on and off as a result of the many times you’d locked and unlocked it before finally displaying your lockscreen, which is still you and Chloe after the ICCAs. You unlock your phone quickly and immediately change the song, but your mind is still flashing with images of Chloe in that shower. The way her hair fell in front of her face; her prominent collarbone; the swell of her breasts.

Your phone buzzes, signalling a new text, and when you see the sender your heart stops in your chest.

**Chloe [13:17]**

_ We need to talk. _

Chloe never uses proper punctuation and her texts are usually followed by a long string of emojis and kisses, so the formality of her message scares you.

**Beca [13:17]**

_ about what? _

**Chloe [13:17]**

_ Don’t play dumb, Beca. You kissed me. We need to talk about it. _

**Beca [13:18]**

_ what I didn’t kiss you what are you talking about jesus chloe delusional much _

You cringe as soon as you send it because  _ God _ , you know that your denial is only going to piss her off even more. You anxiously await her reply, which is taking forever compared to her speedy replies before.

**Chloe [13:21]**

_ Jesus, Beca. This is a new level of in the closet, and I once dated a girl who wouldn’t let me stand within ten feet of her when certain people were in the room. _

Your heart flutters when she mentions someone she dated because maybe she’s thinking about you like that, but you quickly push that down because  _ no _ . No.

And maybe you kissed your best friend who’s been on your mind for months but that doesn’t make you gay or bi or  _ anything _ , okay? It’s college. Prime time for experimentation.

**Beca [13:21]**

_ well I’m not in the closet because I’m straight soooo _

**Chloe [13:21]**

_ Keep telling yourself that. I’m not the one who kissed you. _

**Beca [13:21]**

_ doesn’t even mean anything lol I kiss people all the time _

**Chloe [13:21]**

_ Who do you kiss other than Jesse? _

**Beca [13:25]**

_..... you _

**Chloe [13:25]**

_ Thought so. Meet me at the diner beside that McDonald’s that we found at 3:30. We have to talk.  _

* * *

This is just Chloe, this is just Chloe, this is just Chloe.

You know in your mind that this is just Chloe but you’re going into overdrive and God, this is  _ Chloe _ . Chloe who you kissed earlier today and have been avoiding ever since. Chloe, with eyes like the ocean and a smile that can bring you up any time.

Chloe is like every single sappy poem or love song and you hate it with every inch of you, because Chloe is all of the galaxies and the universes and the planets rolled into one and you can’t breathe when she looks at you.

Chloe slides into the booth across from you, shooting you a small smile. She’s clearly showered since this morning because you can see how her hair hasn’t completely dried yet and is a darker shade of orange than normal, despite the fact that she’s probably dried it with her blow dryer. All she’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans but your heart skips a few beats even still.

(And  _ shit _ , you can’t even believe what an effect she has on you. Every part of you aches because having to deny this is tearing you apart).

“Becs,” she says, voice low. She places her hand atop yours and looks at you with those kind eyes again, like she’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently.

“Um. I know,” is all you can say, your eyes never meeting hers. “I know it was … dumb, and I didn’t even mean it, okay? I got … caught up in the moment, y’know? We were … we were so close and I just … I don’t know, okay? I got caught up in the moment. No big deal, right?”

“Beca, you know it was more than getting ‘caught up in the moment’.”

“ _ No _ . No. I’m not … No.”   


“You don’t have to be gay, Beca,” Chloe says, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not calling you gay.”

“I didn’t say you were —  _ Look _ . It didn’t mean anything, okay?”

“Yes, it did!” she hisses.

“No. I’m not — I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“Beca —”

“— Chloe, do you even  _ know _ my dad?”   


“What? You know that I —”

“— No, I mean really know him. Because I do, and I know that he kicked my older brother out of his house because he caught him fucking his best friend. So no, Chloe, it didn’t mean anything because it  _ can’t _ mean anything.”

The silence between you is deafening. You watch the way Chloe’s lips tighten and how she plays with her hands, looking down to the table, almost in defeat. You carefully observe the way her eyes soften and fill with tears and you reach out without thinking and she flinches at your touch.

“You can’t let your dad define who you are,” she finally speaks up.

“You do realise that if my dad found out we were — If he found out that we … kissed .... we couldn’t stay friends. He wouldn’t  _ let _ me. He’d make me quit the Bellas, or cut off all contact with you. I know you think he doesn’t have that power over me but he  _ does _ , Chloe. He can cut off my tuition and kick me out of Barden, or he could stop me from seeing my little sister. He hasn’t talked to my brother in five years.”   


“Beca … that isn’t …”

“No, you don’t get it. You don’t … Your parents are probably really supportive of you, right? Like, they don’t care that their perfect little girl likes other girls. Whatever. No big deal. Right?” Her silence speaks volumes. “But my parents aren’t like that. Well, at least my dad and his wife aren’t. My mom’s like, pretty cool. But my mom isn’t the parent who lives in this state and who would be the person someone would contact to come and get me or if something happened to me. My mom doesn’t even matter right now because she’s not keeping me in this school.”

“I’m sorry, Becs.”

“I know. I know you are. And I mean … It’s not like you’re repulsive or anything —”

“— Gee, Beca, thanks.”

“Hear me out. It’s not like you’re repulsive or anything. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. It’s like … I see you, and nothing else matters, y’know?  Like … I see you and everything else around us just fades away. It’s like we’re the only ones in the room. You’re all that I see anymore. And when you’re not in the room I’m looking for you and wishing you were there.” Chloe’s eyes widen a little, making her look even  _ more _ like a Disney princess than usual (not that you ever thought that was possible).

“But that?” you continue. “That’s terrifying. That’s not okay. That’s … I mean, I have a boyfriend, Chloe. I have Jesse and you have … Well, you have Tom —”

“— Tom and I aren’t —”

“— You know what I mean,” you say with a frown. “I have Jesse and you have Tom and everything else doesn’t matter because it isn’t allowed to matter. I’m straight and you’re not and that’s okay, right?”

You’re not fooling anyone but she nods and seems to understand that you need her to tell you it’s okay. You’re almost crying now but  _ God _ , everything is so fucked up and you wish that you didn’t have these feelings for your best friend and that you never kissed her and most importantly, you wish that Jesse was enough for you.

“That’s okay,” she whispers. 

* * *

You’re barely outside of the diner before you’re crying. This has become an all too regular occurrence for you lately and the fact that it’s Chloe based makes you want to cry even harder. You continue to walk home and curse yourself for not taking your car, and ignore all of the strangers that walk past you and stare.

You’re about ten minutes to the Bella house when your phone starts vibrating in your pocket and when you unlock it you see through teary eyes that it’s Jesse calling. You want to decline it but before you know what you’re doing your thumb is hitting the green answer button and you’re bringing the phone up to your ear and —

“Hello? Becs?”

“Um, hey,” you reply shakily, and your voice cracks.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks gently. He’s concerned and you’re grateful but he’s  _ not Chloe  _ and so it’s sort of just … eh.

(You wonder when everything in your life had to be from Chloe just for you to be satisfied).

“What? Um. Nothing. I just … Nothing. I’m fine. What’s up?”

He seems to take the conversation turn, for which you are glad, and accepts it wholly. “Nothing much, really. I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to watch a movie tonight?”

Your bones ache and you want to scream out that you are sick and fucking tired of movies, but you’re too tired to protest, so you manage out a weak  _ yeah _ and carry on with the conversation. He asks about your day and you tell him you had lunch with Chloe, leaving out the kiss and the tear-filled argument. He describes his in great detail, yammering on about watching the new  _ Stars Wars  _ movie with Benji again this morning and how Bumper had randomly called just to brag about working with John Mayer.

By the time you’ve managed to hang up on Jesse with a slightly awkward goodbye and promise that you’ll be at the Treble house by nine, you’re back at the Bella house. Everyone is awake now, crowded around the TV in the living room and watching a movie. You know your eyes are most likely red and puffy and that they’ll be able to tell immediately that you’ve been crying but before you can make it to the bathroom you’re being literally attacked by Stacie.

She comes bursting through the living room doors and she jumps up and wraps her legs around your waist, seemingly forgetting the fact that while she is five feet, eight inches of pure Amazonian goddess, you are five feet, two inches of tiny woman-child. You topple over to the ground and Stacie only laughs into your hair. “What the Hell was that for?” you ask, trying to sound angry but failing miserably as Stacie’s excitement spreads to you. You frown because this is a trait only Chloe and Stacie share and it’s fucking annoying.

“I saw you walking up here out the window and you looked really sad,” she explains. “I knew that even if you denied it a hug would make you feel better. Plus, when Chloe came back from your lunch she looked pretty sad too, so I figured she wouldn’t be hugging you any time soon.”

You tense in her arms and while you’re sure she notices, to her credit, Stacie doesn’t mention a thing. Eventually, she gets up again and pulls you up with her. You’re about to go to your room when Stacie catches you by the elbow and wraps you in a hug, burying her head in your hair.

“Hey, Becs,” she says when she pulls back. “Are you okay? And don’t bullshit me, okay? I don’t need to know what’s wrong. I just … Are you okay?”

You contemplate saying yes, you’re fine, but you know full well that Stacie will call you out on your blatant lie, so you shrink under her gaze and shrug. “I will be,” you say. “Eventually.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka the bellas have their annual bonding night and things go downhill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: PANIC ATTACK
> 
>  
> 
> I've been struggling all day to get this chapter finished! Finally, I am done.
> 
> Okay, so I can't promise you that updates will be this regular from hereon out because school returns tomorrow and that means the neverending pile of homework in my bag will need to be tended to. However, I'm not going to leave you for too long after the wreck that was this chapter.
> 
> I won't lie, I was feeling pretty creatively blocked when it came to this chapter. I was unsure as to where it was going and sort of just stuck for a good few hours there, but in the past hour or two I've picked it up and I finally had a semi-okay (if not slightly crushing) way to end the chapter.
> 
> P.S. This morning I woke to find something scribbled on my hand:
> 
> "VIMH  
> Never Have I Ever  
> Crush on same sex  
> Jesse?"
> 
> And, off to the side, a poorly drawn arrow with "staubrey??" written next to it. I wrote this at 3 am when my lack of sleep was getting to me and I was terrified of losing a possibly good idea. When writing this I was going to add NHIE in but I went in a direction that didn't really allow it, esp. with the questions I was going to ask in it. Perhaps when Aubrey visits, to fulfill my staubrey trash heart. Also, apologies for the shit buildup of Staubrey in this chapter. The first part was mainly there for staubrey, I won't lie.
> 
> Cue end of ridiculously long start note. Kudos to you if you've read till here!

Things are different between you now.

You’re still friends, but there’s been a significant change since your meeting at the diner. On the surface, nothing has changed and you’re still Beca and Chloe, Chloe and Beca, best friends who are joined at the hip, but you know that everything is different.

You can’t cuddle up to her or hold her hand or twirl her hair between your fingers because it’s weird now. There’s a thick layer of tension lying between you that makes the inches apart feel like hundreds of miles.

You spend more time with Jesse and Stacie, trying to push all thoughts of that fleeting kiss out of your mind. At night, when you’re pressed against Jesse’s bare front and his arms are wrapped around you like barriers, you try not to think of how Chloe’s eyes had dulled when you told her this couldn’t be a thing and think about how lucky you are to have Jesse, who loves you and who, most importantly, is  _ safe _ .

Of course, it never works. You lay awake for hours trying to wipe your mind of the memory of Chloe in that diner; how you’d practically seen something inside of her break just from the expression on her face.

When Jesse wakes up he always presses a kiss to your shoulder and mumbles a sleepy good morning into your skin and you always try not to imagine it’s Chloe.

(You always fail because Jesse’s lips are too big and too warm and his stubble always brushes you. You have to pretend that it’s Chloe nuzzling her head into you to breathe some mornings because this is so far from what you want that it’s killing you).

Hanging out with Stacie is easy. She never presses, or tries to force you to talk about Chloe. You’re sure she’s picked up on the newfound distance beween you but she never mentions a thing. You’re not best friends but Stacie is good and she is  _ enough _ . It’s relieving to have someone who is enough, even if it’s just for once.

The only problem with being around Stacie so much is the fact that she shares a room with Chloe. While you keep your hangouts to yourself and Amy’s room as much as possible, you know that at times it’s unavoidable to spend time with her.

Like today, when Amy is having very loud, non-discrete phone sex with Bumper. Stacie seems unfazed by it and just giggles and leads you through the house to her and Chloe’s room. You hang back reluctantly, waiting until Stacie grabs you by your sleeve and pulls you into her bedroom.

You’re met with a very frustrated-looking Chloe Beale frowning at her computer screen and talking to who you presume is Aubrey:

“— And she’s been ignoring me ever since and I don’t know what to —”

She stops speaking as soon as she sees you and your heart sinks because you know immediately what they’re talking about. Stacie seems to catch on pretty quickly, too, because her breath hitches and you see her cursing under her breath.

“Chlo?” you hear from Chloe’s computer screen. “Chlo? You there?”

“Um, yeah, Bree,” she says shakily. “Yeah, I just gotta — I’ll call you back.”

“Wait!” Stacie says. She scurries past you and jumps onto Chloe’s bed, resting her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “Hi, Bree.”

You watch on in slight amusement as she proceeds to have a conversation with Aubrey and Chloe sits awkwardly, being used as nothing more than a prop for Stacie’s head. You observe the way Stacie’s cheeks tinge pink whenever Aubrey says a certain thing and how her smile is undeniably bigger than usual whenever the other girl laughs. You have no idea what’s going on between them but your chest tightens and you hope silently that Stacie doesn’t get hurt.

“I’ve missed you,” Stacie says, pouting at Chloe’s laptop. You’re not sure when Stacie and Aubrey ever talked or hung out during that first year so you’re curious as to how Stacie can miss someone she was never really friends with. “When are you coming back here?”

“Well,” Aubrey says, clearing her throat. “Chloe and I were actually just talking about that. I’m gonna come down for a few weeks soon. We’ll catch up then.”

“Great!” she exclaims, replacing her pout with a grin. “I’m glad. I’ll text you, okay?”

You’re not sure when Stacie and Aubrey started texting but honestly, your mind is sort of occupied with thoughts of Chloe right now so you don’t have it in you to care.

* * *

Tonight, it seems, is the night of the ‘Annual Bella Bonding Night’. What that entails, you’re not exactly sure. All you’d been told was to bring either a sleeping bag or your duvet to the living room at nine, and not to be late. Chloe had leaned in to hug you when she’d told you and your heart had ached because she’d pulled away at the last minute and winced, as if hugging you was something she could no longer do.

So, you reluctantly drag your duvet cover through the house and to the living room, two pillows tucked under your arm. You’ve changed into the pair of pyjamas Chloe had left in your room once, as per her request that you wear something ‘cuter than your usual nightwear.’ The girls are mostly all huddled together in the living room, either stretched across the two sofas or, for the most part, on their stomachs on the floor. Chloe is on one of the sofas and Jessica and Ashley are cuddled up on the other, legs tangled together and hands joined over the middle of the blanket.

You look at Chloe and your stomach twists because God, you wish things were that easy. She sees you looking and you share one of those looks that makes you want to burst into tears right there. God, you want her.

“C’mere, Becs,” she says, patting the spot next to her. Your mind is screaming at you to rest in the spot on the floor beside Stacie but your legs guide your body over to the sofa.

At first, you keep your distance as best as possible. Chloe announces that the ABBN, as she’s now referring to it, includes party games (you can only assume along the lines of truth or dare and Never Have I Ever), Just Dance and lots and lots of tequila. As soon as Chloe drops to the sofa again, she nuzzles her head into your arm out of habit and although you feel her still, she doesn’t make any movement or stand up again.

The night starts out with Just Dance. First up are Stacie and Amy, who end their battle over ‘Umbrella’ by Rihanna with the words  _ you don’t understand America! _ and a smug smirk on Amy’s part. Then, it’s Jessica and Ashley, then Lilly and Flo, and then … well, then your heart literally stops in your chest because Stacie and Chloe are dancing to ‘Timber’ and of course, Chloe has to choose the girl and Stacie has to choose the panda.

And, well, not to sound too much like a horny teenage boy, but  _ boobs _ . And then Chloe’s leaning back and rotating her hips and all of sudden your throat is dry and you can’t breathe and your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

“Beca? Are you okay?”

You take a deep breath and turn to find the voice belonging to Jessica, who is looking at you with concern. You must look horrific right now because you know full well that Jessica and Ashley only ever interrupt their eye-fucking sessions when something’s seriously up with something.

You tear your eyes away from Chloe, who is skipping around Stacie without a care in the world, and nod shakily. “Um. Yeah, I’m —,” Chloe juts her hips out and grins widely and your eyes widen. “— I’m … fine.”

Ashley, who’s turned her attention to you as well now, seems to notice where your attention lies and smirks at you. “What?” you ask, fisting the hem of your shirt as a distraction.

“Nothing,” she simply answers, and turns back to eye-fuck Jess once more.

The dance ends with Chloe riding Stacie’s shoulders — an image that puts severely unholy images in your mind (she’s basically forcing her way in there with her … boobs and her ass and her fucking beautiful smile — you are straight and this is okay and you can breathe, you can breathe, you can breathe) — and you’re struggling to breathe again, and suddenly the room is suffocating you like two hands around your neck.

You want to breathe but you  _ can’t _ .

Truth or dare is up next. It’s a game for the ages and you remember nights at high school in your friends’ basements where people smoked weed and dared you to do the stupidest shit. These were parties you were rarely invited to but always attended given the chance, even though you’d always complain about them after.

Chloe gathers up all the Bellas and you all sit in a circle on the floor, legs crossed over the other and shoulders knocking. You’re wedged in between Stacie and Ashley and Chloe’s on the opposite side beside Amy and Lilly. Your eyes meet over the circle and she smiles politely, but you can feel the tension between you that’s never quite dissipated.

You half listen as the other girls share unimportant truths and participate in mild dares, until it reaches you and Ashley’s smirking at you. “Beca, truth or dare?”

The look on her face tells you that you’re trapped. If you choose dare she’ll make you do something you’ll never want to but if you choose truth, you’ll be met with something you’ll never want to answer. There’s no way out and you’re utterly  _ stuck _ .

“Um, truth, I guess,” you say.

Ashley’s eyes narrow and her smile grows devious. Your stomach drops and you’re filled with dread at the possibilities of what she could ask. Your gaze flicks to Chloe and then shit shit shit, who  _ knows _ what Ashley could ask?

“Who was the last person you kissed?”

Your heart leaps and you wonder if she knows. Your heart is in your throat and you’re going to throw up, you know you are, and you can’t breathe even slightly. Everyone — bar Chloe and Ashley — is puzzled because you have a boyfriend, he’s the last person you kissed, obviously.

Except now that you think of it he isn’t because your mind has been too full of Chloe to let him anywhere near you. It’s been two weeks without even so much as a peck on the cheek and thinking back you’re sure he’s noticed your standoffishness.

Your eyes meet Chloe’s and suddenly, you’re a lot smaller than before. You draw your knees up to your chest and tuck your hair behind your ears, burying your head in your knees.

“Becs? Why are you hesitating?” Stacie asks. “Wait! Did you kiss someone else?”

“Um. I want to … Pass. Please.”

“What? You can’t pass!” Amy objects.

Your throat is closing up and you’re going dizzy and it’s been so long —  _ years  _ — since this has happened to you, and right here, right now — with all of the Bellas surrounding you,  _ waiting _ — is by far the worst place for it to happen.

But you can’t help it and now your breaths are shaky and everyone is staring at you, waiting patiently for you to say something ( _ anything _ ). Your chest tightens and your heart is beating so fast you’re completely convinced it’s going to burst out of the cage that is your chest. Your hands shake in your lap and you’re hyperventilating now but nobody is fucking helping. Nobody seems to be noticing. All they want is their answer.

You jump up before anyone can say anything and rush to the bathroom. You can hear their voices calling after you long after you’ve shut the door, the concerned cries travelling down the hallway and ringing in your ears. Your vision is blurry from your tears and you’re hunched over the toilet retching. The vomit splashes into your hair and you try to muster up enough strength in you to care but  _ God _ , you’re so exhausted you just can’t.

The last thing you register before you press your face to the cold floor is the sound of the door opening and a hand resting on your shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Steca will remain simply brotp. Despite the fact that I lowkey ship them romantic-stylez, that's not going to be included in this story.
> 
> P.S. I actually watched YouTube videos of Just Dance for this. The things I do for you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka the aftermath of beca's panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this should be pointed out and and emphasised very heavily: Beca and Stacie are not going to be a romantic pairing in this fic. There's not even been any requests for it, I just feel like half of their interactions come off as very romantic and that's most likely due to the fact that I lowkey ship them a lot. Probably too much.
> 
> Anyway, this is just a filler chapter until Aubrey comes in next chapter, but it does feel necessary, because it clears up a lot about Beca's panic attack and there's a discussion of feelings (sort of. Not really) between Beca and Chloe which is a little bit of a mess.
> 
> P.S. (And this is random) I hate it when people spell Beca's name as Rebecca. As someone whose name is actually Rebecca and gets called Becca on a daily basis, why would I spell the shortened version with only one 'c' if my full name has two? Argh. It's just annoying.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: heavy references to anxiety and panic attacks, very mild suicidal thoughts

You’re not asleep but you don’t think you’re awake either.

You’re aware of everything going on around you — the banging on the door, the Bellas’ concerned voices, the hand resting steadily on your forearm — but you can’t open your eyes. Your heart has slowed down considerably but it’s still hammering away in your chest at an irregular pace.

You want to open your eyes and see who it is with you in the room because they haven’t said anything yet and there’s no way you can even  _ try  _ and identify them in the state you’re in. Half of you hopes that it’s Chloe and the other half prays that it isn’t (prays that you won’t have to talk about this with her).

After a while, you feel your companion’s arm lifting up your head, cradling it in the pit of their elbow. A hand slips under your knee and then you’re being lifted up and carried out of the bathroom. You can feel the sudden presence of all the other Bellas, but whoever’s carrying you stays silent and just pushes them away.

You grimace inwardly at how weak you must look right now. You know that you  _ are _ weak, but this is a part of you that you never wanted the Bellas to discover. This is the part of you that holed yourself up in your bedroom for days in high school; that vomited in the school bathrooms when your first boyfriend rested his hand absentmindedly on your hip. This is the you that you thought you’d overcome.

But no. Of course not, because this is fucking inescapable. This is  _ forever _ . You’re imprisoned in your own shitty skin and you can’t get rid of this thing. You’re the worst person you’ve ever known and you want to break down when you think about it.

You can’t even admit to yourself that you’re probably falling in love with Chloe.

You’re placed down on your bed and your duvet cover is wrapped around you. Whoever has accompanied you crawls beside you in the bed, resting their chin on your shoulder.

It’s not Chloe. You know it isn’t, because the jaw is too sharp to be Chloe’s. Also, whoever this is’ hair is tickling your neck and Chloe was wearing her hair up in a ponytail earlier. So, it’s not Chloe, and you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or sad.

And if it’s not Chloe, you’re pretty sure it’s Stacie, because although you love those girls like they’re your biological sisters, you know that you aren’t close enough to any of them for this to happen. None of them would ever carry you up to your room and cuddle into you in your bed.

You relax a little having sussed out who it is that you’re with now, allowing your exhaustion to take over. Knowing who it is, though, makes you crave Chloe. You think you’re probably glad it isn’t actually her, but Stacie smells of lavender whereas Chloe always smells of cinnamon and laundry detergent and it’s putting you off.

“Night, Becs,” she whispers sleepily into your hair.

(You’re pretty impressed by the fact that she managed to carry you up a flight of stairs in her drunken state. Props to her).

* * *

When you wake up you’re automatically hit with Stacie.

She’s  _ everywhere _ — her leg is swung across yours; her head is buried in your shoulder; her arm is lazily wrapped around your waist. It leaves you reminiscent of all of the times you and Chloe cuddled in your bed, and you feel one of the empty spaces inside of you ache.

It’s early — you know that much. It’s definitely too early for the hangover you’re nursing.

Also, Stacie is still very soundly asleep right now, and she’s using you as a human pillow. Her breathing is perfectly even and it has an oddly calming effect on you, as you try and mirror it as best as possible. You lay there silently for ten minutes before her phone buzzes.

It’s sat on your bedside cabinet, which just so happens to be on Stacie’s side of the bed (which, you’re well aware, sounds annoyingly domestic). You manage somehow to wiggle one arm free and turn her over slightly to grab it. Your own phone is downstairs somewhere, discarded after the events of last night, and if you’re going to lie here with this lump on top of you then you’re at least going to play on her phone.

When you press the sleep button you see that Stacie has an overwhelming amount of notifications. Most are from Instagram or Twitter, and the majority all came in when you were sleeping, but it’s the one on top that catches your eye.

**Aubrey [09:03]**

_ I’ve missed you an embarrassing amount since we last saw each other. The reason I’m visiting may be moral support for Chloe but I won’t lie when I say that seeing you is going to be an advantage. See you soon x _

You smile a little — Aubrey may be an annoying asshole ninety percent of the time, but the other ten percent she’s  _ sort  _ of tolerable, and you’re happy for Stacie (really) — and unlock her phone with your thumbprint. You silently thank the sleeping Stacie that she practically forced your thumbprint onto her phone a few days after you started hanging out more — “Beca, if we’re going to hang out this much, we  _ have _ to have our fingerprints on each other’s phones! It’s like, law,” — and open her chat history with Aubrey. You find that her text was a reply to one Stacie sent:

**Stacie [23:37]**

_ bree im so happy ur cominng home its so good omg i miss u so mcuh sincer u left omg omg omg i cant even beloeve ur coming back. _

**Stacie [23:37]**

_ ps i am slightly durnk right now _

You laugh a little at how she’d felt the need to clarify despite the fact that you can clearly tell she’s drunk in her initial message. The rest of the texts range from teasing (flirty?) to deep conversations about the universe and what it means to exist. Stacie Conrad is the only person you’ve ever met who can go from trying to stick her hand down your pants to telling you all of the secrets of the universe in two seconds flat.

You play one of the countless games she has on her phone until you feel her stirring on top of you, groaning into your shoulder. She lifts her head and shouts out a string of curse words at the blinding light streaming in through the window.

“Morning,” you say.

She looks at you and her expression immediately softens. “Becs. Are you … okay? After … y’know.”

“You can say it, Stace,” you mumble, playing with the threads on the hem of your shirt. “It’s not, like … taboo.”

“Beca.”

“Seriously. I had a panic attack. It’s not like it’s the first time it’s ever happened to me.”

“Beca … how often do you —”

“— Not often. Anymore, anyway. I mean … in high school, it was really bad, but now it’s … Well, let’s just say, now it’s better. Handled. Controlled.” You inhale sharply. “Or at least it  _ was _ .”

“I mean, are you on any medication? Or …”

“I was. I stopped taking my meds a couple months ago, though. I still have them. It’s okay. I’ll take them again.”

“That’s good. That’s … I’m glad.”

There’s an excruciatingly awkward silence then, where all she does is drum a tune on the side of your hip with her fingers and you lay back and stare at the ceiling.

“So, Aubrey texted,” is how you choose to break the ice, and your face breaks out into a grin when you see a blush creeping up Stacie’s chest. “You  _ like _ her.”

“What?” she says, voice an octave higher than usual. “No, I don’t! That’s .... shut up.”

“Oh, my God, I was kidding. But you so like her.”

“Shut up! I do  _ not _ like her!”

“You’re so bad at denying this. Seriously, the worst.”

“I don’t even like people! Like,  _ ever _ . Seriously. You know what I say: use ‘em, abuse ‘em, lose ‘em.”

“Stacie, you’re too nice to say that.”

“Well. You know what I mean.”

“I guess.”

“So, what did the text say?”

“You  _ do  _ like her!” you exclaim, laughing. 

Your chest feels light and for a few seconds you think you could be content with this — lying in bed with her friend and not thinking about how it would feel to lie in bed in a different context —, that maybe you can survive with just making jokes with Stacie and not needing Chloe to feel complete.

Until someone pushes the door open timidly and you see Chloe standing a little awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hey, Becs,” she says, voice gentle. “Can we … talk?”

“Um.”

“It’s okay, Becs. You go talk with Chloe. I’ll stay here, okay?”

Stacie’s smiling encouragingly at you and she squeezes you on the arm as if to tell you to go.

“Reply to that text,” you tell her as Chloe leads you out of your room, hand resting on the small of your back.

(Your shirt is riding up a little and her hand is making contact with your skin, which is tingling at her touch).

Chloe takes you to her and Stacie’s room, which is a mess of clothes strewn across the floor and empty takeout boxes on both beds. You smile fondly at the mess, which is such a perfect mix of Chloe and Stacie that it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she says quietly.

“What?” you ask, taken aback by her apology. “Why are you sorry?”

“Well, you … I mean … The panic attack was because we kissed, right? You freaked out because you didn’t want to tell the Bellas we kissed, right? So, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Chloe,” you say, and watch the way she flinches at your words. “No, I didn’t — that’s not what I meant. It wasn’t meant to come out like that. I just mean … Of course it wasn’t your fault. Don’t be silly. Anyway, I kissed you.”

“Yeah, but … Beca. You do know that it’s … okay to like girls … right? I mean, I know that your dad has always told you that it isn’t, but it is. It really is.”

“Chloe, please don’t.”

“This isn’t about what happened. This is just me checking that you know it’s okay to like girls. Please tell me you know it’s okay.”   


“Chloe, I’m not —”

“— Jesus, Beca, if you try and tell me that you’re not gay one more time, I’ll — No. I’m getting off topic. Just … It’s important to me that you know.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” you say, but you know that your heart isn’t in it.

“Beca, this is serious.”

“I  _ am _ serious. I know. I’m just not.”

“You’re exhausting, Beca,” she says, but you can hear the fondness in her voice.

And you think that maybe this could finally be okay, even just a little, that you and Chloe could really be  _ friends _ .

Your heart breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Steca overload, I'm just trash for how much they lowkey love each other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka beca's dad is a Homophobic Asshole™ for the 511th time in this story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY FOR PRETTY MUCH ABANDONING THIS OVER THE LAST MONTH. I wish I had a good excuse but the truth is, I don't. I was just feeling super unmotivated to finish this chapter and :/ yeah. I know it's a terrible excuse but I've been trying to convince myself to finish this pretty much this whole month I've been inactive. I hope this chapter makes up for it (but I'm pretty sure it won't lol).
> 
> I hope I can bring you fluff soon, but I probably can't.

Aubrey’s presence in the house is unavoidable. You know this. You’re not sure _why_ you’re surprised when you slump downstairs one day to find her sitting on the sofa watching TV with Stacie, but you just _are_.

You’re only down for a few seconds before Aubrey notices you and you see something inside of her change. It’s like somebody flips a switch and she’s automatically _different_. She’s no longer the Aubrey who will lounge around on Saturday mornings, watching — Jesus Christ, cartoons with Stacie, but is instead the Aubrey who will fuck up anyone who so much as thinks about hurting her best friend.

“ _Mitchell_ ,” she growls, and you’re transported back into the body of freshman Beca, who would do anything to piss her off.

“Posen,” you say, keeping your voice level. You know there’s the smirk on your face that Aubrey hates so much — you believe her exact words were: “I want to rip that stupid fucking smirk off of her stupid fucking face.”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“ _Yes_ , we do.”

“Nope. I’m good with not talking.”

“Beca, I’m going to give you two options here,” she starts. She’s calmed her voice considerably but she’s staring at you furiously and there’s a vein in her head threatening to burst that takes away from her seemingly chill persona. “Either you can come with me somewhere private and we can talk about this and keep it between us, or we can talk out here with Stacie right over there and all of the Bellas in listening distance. It’s up to you what you choose.”

You hesitate for a few seconds before sighing and hanging your head. “Whatever,” you say quietly, staring at the ground beneath your feet.

“Is that a yes? You’re going to come with me?”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Aubrey grabs you by the sleeve and drags you out of the room. She leads you to the currently empty bedroom of Stacie and Chloe, face scrunched up in anger.

“What the _fuck_ , Beca?” she practically yells as soon as the door is closed, and you wince at how loud she is.

“What?” you ask.

“How could you do that to her?” she practically yells. “How could you — Jesus. I get it, okay? I get it, you didn’t grow up in a house where it was okay to be gay. _Trust me_ , I get it more than anyone ever should.”

“Aubrey, what are you —”

“— But that doesn’t mean that you can fuck with Chloe’s emotions. That doesn’t give you the right to kiss her and then pretend that you’re straight and that it didn’t happen.”

“Aubrey,” you say, voice barely louder than a whisper. “That isn’t fair. You _know_ that isn’t fair.”

“I know,” she says to you, and you swear you see her eyes soften when she looks at you. “I know that isn’t fair. None of this is fair, Beca. But you can’t just … You aren’t allowed to do that to her. If you wanna be her friend, you have to be her friend and nothing more. But if you wanna be _more_ than just her friend? You have to be that. You can’t fuck around with her. You can’t be her best friend one day and something more the next. Do you understand?”

“I’m not a child, Aubrey,” you huff, because even though this conversation is far beyond one you’d have had with Aubrey as a freshman, there’s still part of you that wants to piss her off more than anything.

“Jesus, Beca. I’m not saying that you’re a —”

“— I know. I know what you’re saying. But I have no idea what to do with what you’re saying.”

“I’m telling you to man the fuck up. Stop running from how you feel and decide whether you want to be with Chloe or not, because one day, she’s not going to follow you around like a blind puppy no matter what you say and you are going to regret not making a decision.”

“I know,” you say. “I know. But it’s not that easy.”

“I know it isn’t,” she tells you, her voice tinged with sadness. “I know. But you have to try.”

You want to ask her how she does it when she so clearly was brought up in a similar situation to yourself, but your chest is tight and nothing feels right anymore and you’re afraid that it’ll make things even more tense between you.

So, you force a small smile and say, “So, you and Stacie, huh?”

Aubrey’s face flushes and your lips tug into a more genuine smile at her obvious embarrassment. “It’s not … We aren’t … That’s besides the point, Beca.”

“I think that’s exactly the point,” you tell her.

“We’re talking about you and Chloe right now.”

“We already talked about Chloe.” Your smile widens as she buries her head in her hands. “Now, we’re talking about you.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you, Beca.”

“Why not?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice. “‘Cause you _liiike_ her?”

“Because we,” Aubrey says, gesturing between the two of you with her hands. “Are not friends.”

“Didn’t stop you from trying to talk to me about _my_ personal life, now did it?”

“Chloe’s my best friend.”

“And Stacie’s … one of my best friends. So spill, Posen.”

Aubrey sighs, rubbing her forehead with her index and middle finger. “We’re just — We’re talking, okay? We’re just talking.”

“Stacie Conrad does not ‘just talk.’”

“Well, we are.”

“I’ve seen the texts, Aubrey. That is not ‘just talking.’”

“What are you — our texts are completely platonic!”

“‘I won’t lie when I say that seeing you will be an advantage,’” you recall from memory, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“Shut _up_.”

* * *

The next time you see Chloe, it’s awkward. And by ‘awkward’, you mean she’s stepping out of the bathroom with only a towel covering her. Her auburn hair falls in perfect ringlets around her face, framing it perfectly, and the water dripping off of the ends of it is covering her bare skin in perfect droplets. Her hair has been pushed to one side, revealing her long, slender neck. Your gaze lingers just a little too long on the expanse of skin to be friendly, and you’re only snapped out of you trance when Chloe coughs.

You look up, guilty expression on face, and smile sheepishly at Chloe. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m just —”

“— Don’t worry about it,” she says, her voice sharp. “You know, if things were different, you wouldn’t have to apologise for leering at me.”

She pushes past you, knocking your shoulder with hers as she walks. You’re left reeling for minutes after she’s gone, wondering how the Hell soft, sweet and gentle Chloe could have turned so cold so quickly.

* * *

**Warren Mitchell [10:19]**

_Beca. We need to talk._

**Beca [10:24]**

_What the hell do you want?_

**Warren Mitchell [10:24]**

_I need to talk to you about Chloe, ASAP._

**Beca [10:29]**

_What about her?_

**Beca [10:29]**

_My life and my friends have nothing to do with you._

**Warren Mitchell [10:31]**

_They do when they’re affecting my life and your sister’s life. I don’t want you hanging around with that girl anymore - she’s nothing but trouble._

**Beca [10:33]**

_Okay, first of all: how the hell is Chloe affecting your life? And how is she in any way affecting Erin? She’s met Erin /once/ and all they did was talk, and I’ve already told all of my friends that it would be in their best interests to go out of their way to avoid you because you’re fucking crazy._

**Warren Mitchell [10:33]**

_She’s disgusting. I won’t tolerate having someone like that near either of my daughters, never mind BOTH of them._

**Warren Mitchell [10:34]**

_One of my children has already gone down this disgusting path and I will not tolerate any of the others being influenced that way._

**Beca [10:37]**

_oh my god_

**Beca [10:37]**

_are you fucking with me right now_

**Beca [10:37]**

_is this because she’s pansexual_

**Beca [10:37]**

_what the fuck warren_

**Warren Mitchell [10:38]**

_It’s an abomination, Beca. If you want to continue to have a relationship with your sister, you will cut off the one you have with Chloe IMMEDIATELY._

**Beca [10:40]**

_You can’t do that. You can’t threaten me like that. She’s my little sister, I have every right to see her. Chloe isn’t affecting Erin’s life and she isn’t affecting mine. It’s not as if the fact that I’m friends with her means I’m out licking her pussy on the weekends, alright? So stop being such a fucking asshole because you’re going to mess up that kid and she’s the best thing you’ve ever created that you haven’t already fucked up._

**Warren Mitchell [10:42]**

_The choice is yours, Beca. It’s up to you what you decide_.

* * *

You throw your phone against the wall in frustration, and wince when you hear the distinct cracking of the screen. You clench your fist by your side, anger still possessing your body. How _dare_ your dad try and make you choose between Erin and Chloe?

Because really, it’s not a choice at all. You _have_ to pick your little sister — it’s a no-brainer. You can’t just abandon her to live with the fucking personified bags of shit that are her parents just for a girl that you’ve only known for a year.

But then you think about losing Chloe and your chest aches and you’ve never wanted to break down so bad — not even when you saw your high school boyfriend with his hand up the skirt of your ‘best friend’ and he just laughed and blew smoke in your face and said: “C’mon, babe, lighten up; we’re just having some fun. You can join us if you’d like,” and you’d spared a look to your ‘best friend’ with her twisted smile and her cruel laughter and had ran to the bathroom and puked up the contents of your lunch — because God, you can’t lose her.

She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.

* * *

**Stacie [19:47]**

_hey r u ok? uve not been downstairs all day. is this abt chloe bc i’ll tell bree that we can watch a movie tmrw nite if u need 2 talk ??_

**Beca [19:48]**

_no it’s okay stace, have fun with aubrey. i’ll talk to you tomorrow_

**Stacie [19:48]**

_im serious becs, bree will understand if u need 2 talk ok? shes rly cool nd understanding wen u get 2 kno her_

**Beca [19:50]**

_yeah i believe you, don’t worry. have fun. you guys are cute together._

* * *

You hesitantly pad across the landing towards Chloe and Stacie’s bedroom, which is on the other side of the hallway from the bedroom you share with Amy. You try and prolong the walk, dragging your heels and stopping when you get to the doorway, focusing on a sticker on the door rather than actually entering the room.

“Beca, I can hear you thinking out there,” Chloe snaps irritably, and you blush even though she can’t see you. “Come in.”

You push open the door gently and stand awkwardly by the doorway. Chloe’s stretched out across her bed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and her Barden shirt. There’s a pair of glasses perched on her nose that are slipping down and she’s balancing a book between her thumb and her index finger. The light is turned off but the lamp by her bedside is illuminating her face, casting a soft orange glow upon her.

She looks _so beautiful_ and your words get stuck in the back of your throat.

She’s undeniably mad at you but when she sees you standing by the door, gripping onto your sleeves with such force that your knuckles are going white, biting down on your bottom lip and furrowing your brows, she gives you that gentle, kind smile that knocks the wind right out of you.

“Hey,” she says, putting her book down on the bed, folding over the page she’s on to mark it for later. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you reply, shifting from one foot to the other. “Can we talk?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka shit hits the fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied: I couldn't resist putting some fluff in. Don't worry, the angst is back before the end of the chapter. I'd like to think, however, that this is the beginning of Beca finally getting her head out of her ass and admitting that she likes Chloe.

“Can we talk?”

She smiles and beckons you to sit on her bed. “Of course,” she replies, moving the duvet out of the way and patting the spot next to her. “Sit down.”

You shake your head nervously. “No,” you say. “No, I shouldn’t …”

So, you sit on the edge of her bed and try not to think about the reason why you can’t allow yourself to sit up next to her. You clear your throat and bow your head, staring at your folded hands that lie in your lap.

“What’s up, Becs?” she asks, concern evident in her voice.

“I was talking to my dad earlier, and …” you start, but the words get caught in the back of your throat. You look up again and see Chloe’s worried smile again and you swear you’re going to fall apart under her gaze. She’s pushed her glasses up her face so she can see better and she now sits cross-legged. She’s a masterpiece all on her own and you can feel your heart breaking.

“And what? What did he say, Becs?”

“He said …” You take a deep breath. “He told me that … he said that …”

“Becs, what did he say?” she asks. “I know that I’m mad at you but you can tell me anything.”

And then you crack. You’re not sure what happens, but one minute you’re staring at your lap and the next you’re sobbing into Chloe’s shoulder. Her arms are wrapped around you and your head is buried in her shoulder, most likely soaking it. You’re so embarrassed at the fact that you’re breaking down like this but God, being in her arms again feels so good.

“Just breathe, Becs,” she whispers into your hair. “Just breathe and you’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

“Why are you sorry?” she asks, and you get the feeling that she’s trying to make you fess up rather than actually being confused about it.

But you’re weak for Chloe Beale in every way so you crumble after only a few minutes of tense silence. “I’m sorry that I kissed you,” you say. “I’m sorry that I pretended I didn’t, and I’m sorry that I’m still with Jesse.”

“Becs, you can’t be sorry for being with Jesse. You love who you love, right?” Her voice cracks at the end and you watch as her eyes fill with tears at her statement.

“I know,” you say. “I know you love who you love. That’s my  _ fucking  _ problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t  _ help  _ the fact that I want to kiss you all of the time, or the fact that when I tell Jesse I love him it just feels like I’m lying to him, or the fact that I get distracted whenever you’re around. I can’t help that —”

“— Wait,” Chloe interrupts. Her lips quirk into a small smile and you’re about to ask why she’s smiling when she says: “You want to kiss me again?”

“What?” you ask, momentarily confused by her interruption. “Oh. I mean … that isn’t the point.”

“You want to kiss me again,” Chloe repeats, clearly in a daze.

“Yes, but —”

“— No, Beca, you  _ want _ to kiss me again. And you just admitted it to me.”

“Yes, and?” you ask, slightly irritated.

“And that’s progress. The last time we talked about the kiss, you were literally denying it ever happened, and now … and now you want to do it again.”

She’s giddy, almost; her eyes are shining bright and she’s smiling so wide you’re convinced her face is going to split down the middle. Her lips are parted slightly and her tongue is peeking out, and you’re probably just a little  _ too _ focused on how pink her tongue is.

“You’re getting somewhere, Becs,” she says, taking your hand in hers. “And, for the record —” she says, almost as an afterthought. “— I want to kiss you again too.”

You can feel yourself getting caught up in the moment — can feel the conversation with your dad slipping out of your mind. You know that you should be talking to Chloe about the decision your father has forced upon you, but right now, in this moment, you just  _ can’t _ . You don’t want to sully the memory of Chloe looking so happy with something as horrible as that.

You soak in the sight before you, because you’re not sure when she’ll let you see her like this again. You memorise the slope of her neck, the curve of her jaw, the dip of her nose. Your mind takes note of her pale pink lips, her sunkissed skin, her cerulean eyes.

“Beca, you’ve gotta stop looking at me like that,” Chloe says softly.

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you.” She says it with such certainty that it scares you; it’s like her purpose, the reason she was put on this earth, is to kiss you again.

You hesitate for a few seconds before you swallow down the lump in your throat and say, “Well, maybe you should.”

Her eyes widen a little, almost comically. “What?”

“I don’t want to stop looking at you like this, so maybe you should kiss me.”

“Beca, are you sure about this?” she asks.

And the honest answer is no, you’re scared out of your fucking mind, but you know you can’t tell her that so you smile probably unconvincingly and nod. “Yes,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

“Promise?”

You’re about to back out but then your eyes flit down to her lips almost subconsciously and you see the way she’s smiling hopefully and all of your doubts are out the window in that moment.

“I promise.”

So, she leans over and cups your jaw in her hand, cradling it gently as if you are something to be treasured. She brings your face closer to hers but instead of leaning in to kiss you, she just rests her forehead against yours and closes her eyes. She’s silent for a few minutes, keeping your foreheads joined together. You’re going to say something or maybe — maybe — make the move to kiss her first when she lets out a shaky breath and says, “You are … everything.”

You understand that she isn’t looking for an answer so you just reach out and take your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. You know that you’re making promises you can’t keep right now but you can’t  _ help _ it.

Eventually, she closes the small gap between you and allows your lips to meet. You’re convinced that the moment they do is the best in your entire life, because all you can taste is Chloe and all you can feel is Chloe and everything is  _ Chloe _ .

The kiss remains chaste until she runs her tongue carefully along your lower lip, as if her actions are planned. You part your lips just slightly, only enough for her to slide her tongue in, and when it does, she takes it upon herself to explore your mouth. She takes her time, like she has all of the time in the world. You wish that was the case.

You can’t help but let out a quiet whimper when she bites down on your lip, which seems to fuel Chloe to continue rather than scare her off. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it with purpose.

You can feel the familiar heat pooling between your thighs and you know what it means, but you try your hardest to ignore it, but well, it’s  _ Chloe Beale _ .

She moves her mouth from yours and you’re about to protest when you feel warm lips on your neck. She leaves a kiss on every inch of exposed skin, taking her time in covering it carefully. Every so often, she stops to bite down on a particular spot on your neck, flattening her tongue against the mark to soothe it.

When she attaches her lips to your pulse point and starts sucking, later running the tip of her tongue over the now sensitive skin, your hips buck into hers subconsciously, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Chloe.

This, however, brings you back to your senses.

Here you are, making out with your  _ best friend _ on her bed when you have a boyfriend and a father that will disown you as soon as he finds out about it. You’re sitting with Chloe and you’re kissing her and you’re  _ moaning _ and God, you were so stupid to think this could turn out okay.

You pull away so quickly that you’re convinced your neck is going to bleed because Chloe’s in the process of biting down on your pulse point.

“Becs?” she asks when you’re face to face, clearly alarmed. You hurry to get off of her bed, jumping up and rushing to grab one of your hoodies that Chloe has in her room. “Beca, what happened? Everything was going so well.”

You turn to face her and you can feel yourself break when you see the look on her face. She looks so confused — so utterly  _ heartbroken _ — and you want to comfort her more than anything.

“I … I can’t do this,” you get out, running out of her room and downstairs.

“Beca!” she calls after you, desperation seeping through in her tone. “Beca, come back!”

* * *

Before you know it, you’re at the Treble house and there are tears in your eyes. You don’t bother knocking, barging in and hollering up the stairs:

“Jesse! Jesse, where are you?”

“Becs?” you hear from upstairs, and your stomach twists when you remember how Chloe had sounded asking that just ten minutes ago. “I’m in my room!”

You shove past Donald and Uni who are taking part in a heated debate by the stairs and you stomp up to Jesse’s bedroom, trying your hardest to blink away the memories of Chloe’s low moan. It doesn’t work — the sound rings in your head nonstop.

As soon as you’re in Jesse’s room you grab him by the neck of his shirt and kiss him urgently. Your hands move to his jeans and you unbuckle his belt, quickly discarding it. Your small hands slip into his underwear and before you know it, you’re jacking him off and trying so hard not to think about the way Chloe had made you feel with only a kiss.

(You fail).

“Becs, not that this isn’t — fuck — a great surprise, but are you — shit — okay?” he says, his head tilted towards the ceiling.

“I’m fine,” you get out through gritted teeth. “Can’t I get my boyfriend off without him making a big deal out of it? Fucking hell, Jesse. We haven’t touched each other in  _ weeks _ .”

“I know, I know,” Jesse says, letting out a groan that sounds too masculine for you to imagine it’s Chloe’s. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

When he finally comes undone, it’s messy and you wince. He leans down to kiss your neck — most likely in an attempt to start getting you off, too —  but he pulls away when he sees one of the hickeys that Chloe left.

“Becs,” he starts warily. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you ask, momentarily confused.

“On your neck. What the hell is on your neck?”

“Oh,” you stumble. “It’s … I … it’s just a bruise.”

“Beca, I wasn’t born yesterday,” he snaps. “Bruises aren’t red. That’s a hickey.”

“What are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not  _ accusing _ you of anything; I’m  _ saying  _ that you have a hickey on your neck that I didn’t give you.”

“What do you want me to say, Jesse?”

“I want you to tell me the truth!”

“No, you don’t,” you say with a smile on your face, even though nothing about this is funny. “You don’t want me to tell you the truth, because the truth will kill you. The truth will kill  _ me _ .”

“What are you talking about?”

“The truth is this: I was trying to apologise to Chloe, and things got away from me, and …” you let yourself trail off because you have no way of finishing this without breaking everything this relationship is.

“What? Why were you apologising?”

“Because I messed up. I messed up and I don’t know how to fix it and I tried and I just made it worse and I am so, so sorry, Jesse.”

“Why are you apologising? I don’t get it.”

“Because I fucked everything up with us.”

“What? I’m so confused. Why are you apologising for telling Chloe you’re — oh.”

Realisation sets in on his face and you can see the entire foundation of your relationship crumbling beneath you.

“Jesse, I am so sorry.”

“So, that hickey — that’s … that’s from Chloe.”

“I’m so —”

“— Yeah, I know — you’re so sorry,” he cuts you off.

“Jesse, I know that nothing I can say will make this better, but … I tried  _ so hard _ . I’m sorry. I tried so hard to stop thinking this — to stop  _ feeling _ this.”

He scoffs. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that supposed to be some sort of …  _ consolation _ ? I mean, my girlfriend  _ cheated _ on me with her female best friend, but hey, at least she didn’t  _ want _ to want to fuck her.”

“Jesse, stop it,” you say weakly, but there’s no use.

“No, I mean, I thought that we were in love, that we were  _ good _ , only to find that you’ve been sleeping with your best friend behind my back! But hey, no, it’s okay; you didn’t want to hurt me. You’re sorry.”

“We weren’t … it was just one time. And we didn’t go all the way. We just … all we did was kiss.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, Beca!” he shouts.

“I know! God,  _ I know _ !”

Your hands shake and you bow your head in shame, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. You can feel Jesse’s anger from across the room and everything is so  _ broken _ that you can’t help but cry.

“No,” he says, voice trembling. “You don’t get to do that — you aren’t allowed to … to make  _ me _ feel bad when  _ you’re _ the one that cheated.”

You move towards him slowly, like a cat. You trace the slope of his jaw with your index finger, running it over the stubble that feels so  _ wrong _ . His face is too rough and too stubbly and too  _ Jesse _ . You feel sick to your stomach but you continue; you trail down his jaw to his collarbone, skimming feather light touches over it.

“So, what?” you ask. “That’s it? We’re over, just like that?”

Jesse scoffs. In lieu of an answer, he storms out of the room, leaving you alone in a room full of reminders of everything you could have kept.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or everything is good in angst town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, you're all blessed tonight, because this chapter is pretty much entirely fluff, and I have sort of a guess that the next few chapters might be the same. I can't make any promises, but basically, I'm currently (trying) to start the process of coming out to my family (currently have one down and two to go) and as it turns out, writing about an unapproving, homophobic father is not the best thing to do when you're a panicky person with a tendency to overthink pretty much everything, because it will lead me into a spiralling panic where I'm pretty much sure my whole family are going to hate me for being gay (even though, funnily enough, I've actually came out to my dad and he's okay with it).
> 
> P.S. Did you catch that OITNB reference?

You stumble back to the house with tears clouding your vision, and you want to stop your mind from running but you just can’t. It’s overworking itself, playing the moment with Chloe over and over again until all you can hear is the throaty moan that had escaped her lips and you want to leave your mind behind you more than anything.

You finally make it to the house, and you’re trying to swallow down the sobs in the back of your throat but they’re a hurricane that you’re struggling to contain and you fail desperately. A choked sound leaves your mouth, and you can hear how broken it sounds.

You push the door open and try and navigate through the house without anyone seeing you and without you seeing anyone, but when you pass the living room door you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Because there is Stacie, pushed up against a wall by Aubrey and positively _writhing_ beneath her.

The moment is so intimate — almost beautifully so — and you hate yourself _so much_ for ruining it. You shuffle awkwardly through the room, trying so hard not to draw any attention to yourself. You can see that Stacie is … otherwise occupied, and Aubrey is busy … _occupying_ her, but you know that your presence is obvious as soon as you hiccup on a sob and Stacie’s eyes fly open, almost comically.

Aubrey stops what she’s doing and rests her forehead against Stacie’s for a second, almost as if to catch her breath, and when she turns to face you she’s bright red. Stacie is grinning, like she can’t even _help it_ , and you feel a pang in your chest at how happy she looks.

“Beca,” Aubrey squeaks. “Um, what are you …”

“Don’t — don’t mind me,” you get out, rubbing the nape of your neck with your hand. “Just, um, go back to, um … y’know.”

“Becs,” Stacie finally breathes out, her tone of voice not at all matching the radiant smile on her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, a tight smile taking over your expression. “Yeah, I’m … Just go back to making out, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Beca,” Stacie says, almost exasperated. “Seriously — what’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” you promise. “I swear, okay? Just … I’ll find you later. Or you find me when you’re done here. Take your time.”

She hesitates for a few seconds. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good, Stace,” you say. “I promise.”

Stacie takes this as a sign to grab Aubrey by the cheeks and practically _attack_ her with her mouth, peppering kisses all over. You smile at the scene without even realising, because despite the fact that it is tugging at your heartstrings in ways you don’t want to think about, Stacie is _so happy_ and you are _so glad_.

* * *

When you get to your room, eyes bleary from the tears, you find Chloe lying on your bed. She looks fairly comfortable — head rested against the pillow, body tucked under the covers — and, upon further inspection, you see that she is sleeping.

Your presence, however, seems to stir her awake. She blinks a few times, adorably resembling a deer in the headlights, and sits up a little, repositioning her body so that she is now facing you.

“Beca,” she says, her sleepiness shining through in her voice. “You’re back.”

“Hey,” you say, shifting awkwardly on the spot. “Yeah. I’m … I was at the Treble house with Jesse.”

You can see how her face falls at the mention of Jesse’s name, and you know that you don’t really have to clear anything up for her but you hastily add:

“We broke up. Um. Me and Jesse, that is.”

“What?” she asks, and you can see the smile threatening to break out on her face. The sight of Chloe Beale trying to contain the utter masterpiece that is her smile is possibly your least favourite in the world, because _God_ , why would she want to deprive anyone of that beauty?

“Tonight. I went over there after we … Well, we broke up. Because um … I just … I don’t — I _can’t_ talk about it right now. Is that … okay?”

She smiles and nods, and a flood of relief rushes through your body at just the simple action. “Come here,” she says, gesturing you over to her. She shuffles over in the bed and pats the spot next to her. Sensing your hesitance to join her, she says, “C’mere, Becs. We’ll just sleep.”

Awkwardly, you kick off your shoes and peel off your skinny jeans and slide into the spot next to her, making sure to keep a safe distance from her. Chloe huffs and wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. She rests her head on your shoulder, leaving one chaste kiss just below your earlobe. The action is sweet but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless.

“Come be my little spoon,” she whispers into your ear, and you can feel yourself positively _melting_ under her touch.

* * *

You’re awoken to a trail of kisses being left down your neck. They’re soft — tentative, almost — as if Chloe’s afraid of what your reaction will be when you feel them. You bury yourself further into her arms, reveling in the feeling of her lips on your skin.

“Are you awake?” she asks, leaving one last, lingering kiss on your shoulder blade.

“Mmph,” you murmur.

“Are you going to run?” she whispers.

“No,” you reply automatically. “No, I’m good here.”

“I’m glad,” she replies, and you can just _feel_ her smiling against you. “Because I’m comfy here and I don’t wanna move.”

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Um, like eight thirty? I don’t have my glasses or contacts so I can’t see the clock very well.”

“You have class in forty minutes — we don’t have much time.”

“You memorised my schedule?”

“If I didn’t, I knew you wouldn’t. Someone has to keep track of you, Beale.” Your words leak affection and you can feel something warm inside of your chest spreading when she laughs into your shoulder, kissing it quickly a few times.

“What class do I have?” Chloe asks, and you know she’s teasing you by the lilt in her voice.

You search your mind but for the life of you, you cannot seem to remember what class it is that Chloe actually has. “Not sure,” you reply. “I have my own schedule to memorise too, y’know.”

“It’s okay,” she hums. “I have Comparative Lit.”

You freeze in her arms, and you know she notices, because she pushes the hair covering the side of your neck away and kisses it comfortingly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just … My dad — is he your teacher?”

“Yeah, he is. Why?”

You turn in her arms then so you can look at her. You consider telling her about the conversation with your dad, but when you look at the way she’s smiling at you, you know in your heart that you just can’t.

So, you try your hardest to enjoy the moment, trying not to think about your father’s words. _Abomination_. Chloe focuses herself on your eyes, and she looks at you like you hold the universe in them. _Sin_. She shuffles forward you in a futile attempt to be closer to you. _Disgrace_. She takes your face in her hands, cradling it gently as if she’s afraid of breaking you. _Bad influence_. She pulls you in close, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. _Ugly_. Her fingers tangle in your hair, and your lips meet once again. _Disgusting_. “Beca,” she mumbles against your lips, caressing your cheek softly. “What’s wrong with your dad being my teacher?”

“Nothing,” you say, closing your eyes. Trying to memorise this moment. “Nothing is.”

“Hey, Becs,” Chloe says, fear hiding in her voice.

“Mm?”

She hesitates for a few seconds. “I love you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka FLUFF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop apologising for late chapters now because it becomes sort of pointless when it's at the beginning of every  
> chapter, but I present to you chapter ten of this trashy angst fest ft. fluff.
> 
> Also, please do not fret: Chloe's utterance of the three little words will be addressed in the next chapter — I just wanted to have a nice, fluffy, (for the most part) drama-free chapter.
> 
> P.S. can we just pretend that Nick hung up the phone at the end cause I didn't want to end it with Beca hanging up.

It’s not like she hasn’t said it to you before.

Of course she has — you are best friends, after all. But now — now it feels different. It  _ is  _ different. You know this because all of the other times Chloe has whispered these adoring words to you, she’s always been confident; casual. Carefree, almost. Like the words didn’t affect her in the slightest.

But now? Now, she is practically _ trembling _ in your arms, and you can see the indicators of fresh tears pooling in her baby blue eyes. She looks down, as if in shame, and refuses to meet your eyes. You know that you’re frozen right now; rigid, but you want —  _ need _ — to scoop her up into your arms and comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, like she can’t even muster up enough strength to speak normally anymore. Your heart breaks. “I’m so sorry, Beca.”

“No,” you say, and you hope that your attempt at a soothing tone works out. “No, it’s okay. It’s okay. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice wavering, and you watch as tears spill down her porcelain cheeks. “I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s okay,” you repeat, desperately hoping that if you say it enough times it’ll become true. “It’s okay, Chloe. Calm down.”

“We can forget this ever happened,” she says. “I won’t say it again, I promise. Just …  _ please  _ don’t run away again,” she begs.

“Chloe,” you start, keeping your voice gentle so as not to set her off even more. “I don’t want you to … hold back how you feel. That isn’t fair on you.”   
  


“But if I tell you I love you, you’ll leave me again,” she says, and in that moment you can just  _ see _ how much you’ve hurt her.

You take her chin in your hand and look into her eyes, seeing the way the tears swirl around the beautiful blue and make them darker. She looks so effortlessly beautiful even now — crying and having just woken up — and you’re so genuinely  _ mesmerised _ by her. She’s a true work of art and you’d allow yourself to get lost in her any day.

“Chloe,” you say. “God, Chloe — I could never leave you. Not really, anyway. I mean … I could try. I  _ have _ tried. But I can’t escape you.”

She sniffs. “You say that like you want to.”

You look down at her — this beautiful, fragile mess of a human being — and your hearts thumps away in your chest at an irregular pace because you don’t know how to tell her that you wish you  _ could _ escape her. She looks so small in this moment — lip curled into a frown; hands shaking; eyes swimming with tears — and you know that even though every space inside of you aches for her, that maybe you  _ would _ want a life without her, given the chance.

(You imagine a life without Chloe Beale sometimes, though, and when you do, you can feel part of you deteriorating quickly.

Because a life without Chloe Beale is also a life without laughter, and love, and sunshine, and  _ happiness _ .)

“Never,” you whisper, pressing a lasting kiss to her forehead.

She seems content with this for a while — just lying in your arms silently — before she clears her throat and asks in a small voice:

“Do you feel the same way about me?”

Your heart is in your fucking mouth and you can’t breathe. But — “You know I do.”

* * *

The text comes a little after two o’clock.

You’re sprawled out across the sofa, sneaking occasional glances at Aubrey and Stacie who are currently curled up on the sofa on the other side of the room — Stacie keeps leaving tender kisses up and down the column of Aubrey’s throat, as if she’s going to have forgotten about her within a few moments, and there is something so truly  _ beautiful _ about the way that Aubrey will almost always blush and tilt her head down, whispering a few words into Stacie’s ear, kissing the spot just below the lobe a few times to punctuate whatever it is that she says, and it makes you want to well up — when your phone chimes from the coffee table.

**Warren Mitchell [14:07]**

_ I see you’ve made your decision. [1 Attachment] _

You open the attachment — a photo — and are shocked to see it’s a photograph of someone’s back. And, of course, not just any someone — it’s Chloe. You know this by the way her auburn curls cascade down her back elegantly, and you smile a little without even realising it when you see her.

(You’re a sucker for Chloe Beale, what can you say?)

You don’t really understand what your dad is getting at until it clicks in your mind; the hoodie Chloe is wearing is undeniably yours. It’s a dark, forest green but it’s faded now from use, and you recognise it as the Leavers hoodie that the Head Boy and Girl in your senior year had made. On the front, there’s your high school’s logo on it, but that is hidden from the camera.

What you  _ can  _ see, however, are the words emblazoned on the back:  _ Beca effin’ Mitchell _ . It’s printed in large white letters; unmissable. While your heart swells with pride at the sight of Chloe in your hoodie — some primal, possessive part of you smiles at how utterly  _ yours _ she looks — you know that you’re in for it now.

**Beca [14:09]**

_ Fuck you. You can’t make me choose between my best friend and my sister. _

**Warren Mitchell [14:10]**

_ I didn’t think it /was/ a choice, Beca. I thought that it would be a no-brainer. _

**Warren Mitchell [14:10]**

_ Apparently not. _

**Beca [14:15]**

_ Listen, asshole, Chloe and Erin are two totally different people who I have two totally different relationships with. They don’t overlap in the slightest. I have only ever talked to Chloe about Erin ONCE and I have never in my life talked to Erin about Chloe apart from brief mentions whenever ERIN brings her up. Chloe isn’t talking to Erin about liking girls, or about what it means to be gay. The most intellectual conversation Chloe will ever have with her is whether or not cats are better than dogs. Erin isn’t even AWARE that Chloe is pansexual, so shut the fuck up about her “influencing” Erin or whatever shit because you know that isn’t true. I’m not sure how you think she’s going to influence a fucking FOUR YEAR OLD to want to fuck girls but if you do, maybe you’re the one that needs help and not Chloe. So fuck off because you cannot stop me from seeing my little sister just because I happen to have a friend she met once who just happens to be attracted to women. _

**Warren Mitchell [14:15]**

_ Chloe clearly does possess the ability to influence people sexually seeing as once upon a time you were a good girl with morals and now you’re going down the disgusting path of homosexuality. _

You swallow the lump in your throat and blink furiously at the words on the screen. You spare another glance at Aubrey and Stacie, who are currently in the middle of a gentle kiss. Aubrey is cradling Stacie’s jaw like she holds her hold world in her hand, and you wonder how in God’s name anything this beautiful could ever be considered anything but that.

**Beca [14:17]**

_ I don’t know what century you’re living in but borrowing your best friend’s clothes doesn’t suddenly mean that you’re gay for each other. It’s a girl thing - get the fuck over it. _

* * *

Stacie kicks you out of the living room sometime around when she starts groping Aubrey  _ under _ her shirt rather than over it and you outwardly wince when you hear a noise coming from Aubrey that you certainly could have gone your whole life without ever needing to hear. You’re banished to your bedroom for “however long it takes for two super hot people to have super hot sex on a super uncomfortable couch.”

That had sent you running up to your bedroom quickly enough. You flop down onto your bed, playing a mindless game on your phone that you’d really only downloaded to appease Chloe. You play that, check your social media and read a couple of chapters of a book your mom recommended until your phone starts vibrating in your hand.  _ Nick Mitchell _ .

You breathe a sigh of relief and hit the green button with your thumb, bringing the phone up to your ear.

“Hey,” you say, glad for the distraction from your boredom.

“ _ Hey _ ,” your brother greets, his voice coming out a little tinny due to the bad connection.

“What’s up?”

“ _ Nothing _ ,” he says. “ _ I just wanted to … call to check up on how you’re doing, ‘cause the last time we spoke you were sorta … all over the place about this whole Chloe thing _ .”

“Oh,” you say nervously. “Um. About that — I sorta … worked that out. Ish. I mean … not really, but … Well, there have been … developments, on that front. I guess.”

“ _ Listen, Bec, I know I’m your brother and all, so I should have  _ some _ sort of deeper connection with you or something — and don’t get me wrong, I like to think that I do — but none of what you just said made any sense. At all _ .”

“I just, um … I kissed Chloe.”

“ **_What_ ** ?” he squawks, and it’s almost funny because you can just  _ see  _ his expression in your head — the way his eyes must be bulging out of their sockets.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “And then I tried to deny it and I ran away but she confronted me, and we were gonna forget about it but then when we were playing truth or dare someone asked me who I last kissed and I ended up having a panic attack, and then Chloe was mad and I was apologetic and we ended up making out on her bed, but I freaked out and ran to Jesse, who ended up seeing a hickey Chloe left me and then broke up with me, and then I came home and Chloe like, cuddled me to sleep or some shit, and then this morning we were like, being super … coupley. And she told me she loves me,” you spill, hardly taking a breath between your first and last words.

“ _ Well, did you say it back? _ ” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“What?” you ask, eyes widening. “Dude,  _ no _ !”

“ _ Well, why not? _ ”

“Because I don’t — because I can’t —  _ shut up _ !”

“ _ Oh, my God, you  _ sooo  _ love her _ ,” Nick drawls, a laugh quickly following.

“Shut up,” you growl. “I do  _ not _ love her. I mean … she’s my best friend; of course I love her. But like that? No. It’s not … it’s too soon, okay?”

“ _ Dude, you love her. You totally love her. Sack up and admit it _ .”

“Oh, my God, give it up.”

Just then, your hear the familiar sound of a giggle echoing through the halls and a few seconds later, the door is pushed open to reveal Chloe. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her hair is messier than it was this morning, and God, she’s beautiful.

“Hey, Becs,” she says, grinning at you.

“Hey,” you say quietly, almost breathless at the sight of her.

“ _ Bec? _ ” you hear, but your brother’s voice is mostly white noise to you now.

“Who’re you talking to?” she asks, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Um … my — my brother. He’s … hey.”

She giggles and drops down onto your bed. “You doing okay over there, Becs?” she asks, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Yeah, I just … Beautiful. You’re — you’re beautiful.”

You watch as she looks down at your mouth and inches forward a little before hesitating and stilling herself. You think about ignoring it before you look at her lips, slightly parted and devastatingly full, and you feel the burning in the pit of your belly that  _ needs _ her touch.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You can kiss me.”

You’ve dropped your phone by now, and Nick’s confused calls can be heard distantly from the device, but you’re not paying attention. Chloe’s smile widens and she nervously moves towards you, line of sight never once leaving your lips.

And when they meet, you see fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on tumblr (or send me prompts bc i'm always down for a good prompt): stacie-conrads.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka things get a little .... heated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got access to a computer so I can post this! Wahey. Apologies for the long wait but unless I can get the next chapter written and edited by Saturday night at the latest, I'm not sure when it will be up. Limited resources, I'm afraid. But enjoy!

You’re the first to admit that you get a little carried away.

Okay, fine,  _ a lot _ carried away: you end up pinned down to your bed with Chloe’s mouth on your neck, her tongue licking a path up and down the column of your throat — only ever stopping to bite down a little — and producing a barrage of unholy noises from you.

Nick has long since hung up the phone — most likely when he realised what was going on with you and Chloe, but you’re not sure because you can only faintly remember the dial tone your phone had made when he’d ended the call — and for that, you are so grateful because you would never be able to live this moment down had he continued listening.

Chloe’s hands remain planted firmly on your hips, but you can feel her growing impatient as she rubs circles on the little amount of skin you’ve granted her access to. You can almost feel her itching to explore, and you wish you could allow her to let her hands travel north but you know that if you do, you risk freaking out and running, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

She hits a particularly sensitive spot on your neck — a place Jesse had never found before — and you call out on instinct, your hips jerking up and knocking against hers. For a second, you’re reminded of the last time you were in this position with her — the hurry to leave; how you had been bombarded with memories of your father shoving religious arguments down your throat; how  _ dirty _ you had felt for running — but when you feel her lips curve against your neck, all of your worries are replaced with mind-numbing  _ bliss _ .

Chloe’s nails dig into your hips — as if it physically  _ pains _ her to refrain from touching you anywhere else. Her mouth begins moving up your neck and to your mouth, pulling you down into a needy kiss. It’s messy — all overlapping tongues and muffled whimpers — but you’re fairly certain that if you were to stop now, then you’d end up with some pretty serious health defects.

“Chloe,” you whimper. “Chloe, please.”

“Please what?” she asks, and it’s not teasing — it’s genuinely curious.

“I — I just — I need … I need you,” you say, so desperate that it’s embarrassing.

“Where? Where do you need me?”

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” you cry out, missing her touch so much that it’s making you dizzy.

Chloe pulls you down into another kiss, silencing your frustrations. This kiss only ignites the flame burning low in the pit of your belly, and it does nothing to sate the heat pooling at your thighs — if anything, it makes it worse.

Slowly, you can feel her hand moving up your shirt, taking its time to explore every inch of your skin; her hands trails over your ribcage, tracing circles on your stomach, and her fingers find residence just under your bra.

The feeling of her so close to you is almost too much to handle, and you can feel yourself being swept up in the moment.

“Chloe,” you manage to get out, your voice choked. “Chloe,  _ please _ .”

“I need you to tell me what you want, Bec,” Chloe replies sweetly, pressing a kiss to the edge of your mouth. “I don’t want to push you.”

“I need you … to touch me. Please.”

“Okay,” she says, your lips meeting again for a brief kiss. “I can do that.”

Her hand gently makes its way up and over your bra, palming your breast over the material. Although the contact is little, your back arches at the contact and you let out a quiet whine against Chloe’s jaw, which only seems to encourage her — she squeezes lightly, and the contact is enough to draw a sharp hiss out of you.

She begins to knead your breast gently, and you’re so caught up in the feeling that you don’t hear the first moan. Or the second. Or even the third. But when you hear the distinctive sound of … well, not the headboard, but the back of the sofa, hitting the wall, you can’t help but ignore it.

Chloe stills for a second, hand rested gently on your breast and mouth trailing soft kisses up and down your neck, because she appears to hear the noise as well. After a few seconds, she continues her ministrations, ignoring whatever is going on downstairs.

Until the banging starts again, and it’s unavoidable at this point.

“Is that …” Chloe starts, but she bursts into a fit of giggles against your neck.

“Yep, that’s Stacie and Aubrey,” you confirm, cringing at the now very audible moan coming from downstairs. “Gross.”

“Since when were they —”

“— Since Aubrey came to visit, I think. I mean, they were flirting before that, but I walked in the other day and saw them making out.”

There’s a lull in conversation, where Chloe lies with her head rested on your chest. You press a kiss to her forehead, eliciting a happy sigh from her.

“It’s probably best that they interrupted us, now that I think about it,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because we need to talk, and I don’t think having a conversation about the fact that I told you I love you would work very well with my head between your legs.” You can feel yourself blushing at that, and you love the way she grins a little to herself when she notices how flushed your face must be. “Plus, you were denying ever even kissing me like, five minutes ago, so I don’t think you’re in any state to be having sex with me right now.”

“You’re probably right,” you say, looking down in shame. “I’m, uh, sorry about that, by the way.”

“I know you are.”

“So, we’re good?” you ask nervously, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Yeah, babe, we’re good.” You can feel warmth spreading through you at the nickname, and you feel yourself grinning without even realising it. “Nerd,” she says, laughing at the giddy expression on your face. “But we  _ do _ need to talk about the whole ‘I love you’ thing.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Of course.”

“So … when I told you I loved you, how did that make you feel?” she asks gently.

You can feel yourself tensing up at the question, and she seems to notice this because she nuzzles her nose into the side of your face and presses a sweet kiss there. It has the desired effect because you’re instantly calmed, even just a little.

“Don’t think, Becs,” she says, her voice low. “Just say the first thing you think.”

“I felt … happy. Like … you know when something really, really good happens — like, you pass a test you thought you had no chance on — and you’re just so  _ happy  _ and you just want to smile until your face breaks?” Chloe nods. “It was like that. It was like … I waited my whole life for you to tell me that. But then it set in: you  _ love  _ me.  _ You _ love  _ me _ . And I am just … so, so lucky. And so, so undeserving. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid.”

“Maybe,” Chloe says, moving your hair out of your face. “But I don’t  _ want  _ anyone else,” she says, and her voice almost cracks. “I just want  _ you _ , Beca. Please.”

“I know,” you say. “I know. And I … I want you too, Chlo, I really do. But I can’t …”

“ _ Jesus _ , Beca,” she says, but her voice isn’t angry so much as it is upset. “I can’t  _ do _ this anymore. I get it, okay? You’re afraid of what other people will think — of what your dad will think. You don’t wanna be different. You just want to be the same as everyone else, and find a nice guy and settle down and get married and — well. Newsflash: you  _ are _ different. I mean, yeah, sure, you still could do all that stuff — hell, even  _ I  _ still could — but right now, I know you don’t want to. And neither do I, Beca. Right now, I just wanna be with you. So much that it’s eating me alive.”

She’s crying again, and you can feel yourself crumbling under her gaze. “Please don’t cry,” you say, your voice getting caught in the back of your throat. “Please.”

Chloe’s silent, and you watch as she trembles and wish that you could take away her pain more than anything.

“My dad … he …” you start, but the words get stuck and you just can’t get them out.

“God, Beca, I know that your dad doesn’t approve, okay?” she snaps. “You don’t have to remind me.”   


“No,” you say. “No, this is … this is more than that. He … he asked me to choose — you or Erin. He doesn’t want me even being friends with you anymore, let alone  _ dating _ you. He asked me to choose between you two. He said … he said that if I chose you, I wouldn’t get to see Erin again.”

“What?” she asks, breathless. “Oh, my God. Can he … can he do that?”

“Well, she is his kid,” you say, shrugging. “I guess he can stop whoever he wants from seeing her, even if that person is his other kid.”

“Yeah, but … but you’re her  _ sister _ ,” she says. “He can’t stop you from seeing her.”

“He could get a restraining order put out against me.” You blink back a few tears. “I mean, it would become invalid on Erin’s part when she becomes old enough to come and see me on her own and not just with him, but that’s more than ten years away, and she won’t want to see me then.”

“Beca, if you aren’t going to see me again, why did you let me kiss you today? It’s just going to hurt more in the end.”

“Because I didn’t choose Erin,” you say.

“ _ What _ ?” she asks, clearly horrified. “Jesus Christ, Beca! I mean … I love you, but you can’t choose me over your sister.”

“I didn’t choose you either,” you explain. “I refused to choose anyone.”

“How did your dad take that?”

“Not well,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “But he hasn’t banned me from seeing her yet. I think I’m going to go see her soon — in case it’s one of my last chances.”

“Becs, don’t say that,” Chloe says, gently caressing your face. “It won’t be, okay? It won’t.”

“You don’t know that, though.”

“I do. I do, okay?”

“How?” you ask, laughing even though there’s nothing funny about it.

“Because you are Beca Mitchell,” she says. She kisses you, soft and chaste. “And when you set your mind to something, you come through.”

“But what about us?” you ask, your voice cracking.

“I want you,” Chloe says, her voice full and honest and so, so heartbreaking. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’m willing to wait for you. I can wait until you’re ready — until you’ve sorted everything out. I  _ love _ you. I don’t think you understand that that means I amen’t going to leave you. Not ever, okay? I just … I just need confirmation that this is going to be something someday. That all of this waiting will be for a reason. I need to know that. Please, Beca.”

“I …” you start, but you’re cut off by a knock at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> also, and this one feels obvious, pitch perfect doesn't belong to me. if it did jesse swanson would be happily alone atm and bechloe and staubrey would be canon.
> 
> you can rant with me at stacie-conrads.tumblr.com


End file.
